


Bag of Bones

by Glittery_Bubbles



Series: Larry Mitski Fics [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bag of Bones by Mitski, Break Up, Depressing, Established Relationship, Honestly This Fic Is Just Depressing, Inspired by a Mitski Song, M/M, This Is My First Finished Fic So Please Be Nice, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28482504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glittery_Bubbles/pseuds/Glittery_Bubbles
Summary: Harry steps closer until they are toe to toe, Louis slightly tilting his head to look into his eyes. They're so close, yet they feel miles away. Louis almost reaches out to see if Harry's really there, to see if he's actually real, but he keeps his hands at his sides.Harry brings his hand up and gently tilts Louis' head a bit more to bring their lips together easily, this being one of the most familiar things to the both of them. Louis brings his hands up to mirror Harry's, but it feels forced somehow.Louis feels his throat closing, his stomach churning, and his eyes aching as they deepen the kiss. He tries to tell himself that this is good, that this is everything that he needs and wants. Because, really, all he needs is a place to call home and his boy. But this doesn't feel like their home and Harry isn't really his boy anymore.Or I got bored over quarantine and decided to write a super sad oneshot between Louis and Harry based on Mitski's song "Bag of Bones," and it accidentally turned into a little book.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: Larry Mitski Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086317
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter One

_I'm all used up, pretty boy_

_Over and over again, my nails colors are wearing off_

* * *

Louis's not quite sure when it happened. He knows that it happened in a gradual process, one so minuscule that neither him or Harry were possibly capable of detecting it until it was too late, but he wonders if there was a defined breaking point that brought them so far away from how they used to be.   
  
Maybe it was the first time Harry had to cancel a date because he had to work overtime at his job in order to make ends meet for them. Maybe it was when Louis first noticed how far apart him and Harry slept in their bed after having sex. Maybe it was the first time Louis woke up in the middle of the night to find Harry smoking a cigarette on the balcony when Harry doesn't like to smoke. Maybe it was when Louis realized they had gone a week without saying anything as simple as "I love you" to one another when they used to say it every day. Maybe it was when one of Harry's friends called Louis to ask what Harry's favorite color was for a gift just for Louis to realize that he wasn't sure what it was anymore.

Maybe there wasn't one defined breaking point, just a collection of shatters to their relationship bringing it to where it is now: a broken mirror of love that Louis feels trapped in. And with every realization, Louis feels a new shard of it dig into his insides and tear him up. His gut feels so heavy from it all.

He's sitting on the window sill in their living room looking out to the rainy and dreary night of their town at 11:51 p.m. The view isn't very good, but it's the best one could expect since the only other view was the balcony, and Louis didn't feel up to standing in the cold rain. Louis twists his hands in his lap as he absentmindedly looks out the window of their crappy apartment, more focused on the shredding feeling in his stomach than anything.

He's waiting for Harry to get home. It's their natural routine since Louis usually gets done sooner with his job as a receptionist at a local business: Louis gets home late, waits for Harry to get home even later, they have mindless sex, and then they go to bed. Louis can't remember when they even ate together last, both of them being so busy trying to manage enough money for rent.

All the tearing in Louis' stomach can tell him that things are not okay, they aren't no matter how bad Louis wants them to be, and that just makes him more upset. He's so tired, his stomach is so heavy, and he's still expected to face Harry somehow.

And that's the thing, facing Harry shouldn't be an obstacle; it should be one of the only good parts of his day, and it used to be. But with every realization that dug into Louis' stomach, the more and more he realized how he and Harry didn't really know each other anymore. They were like strangers living in the same house that also slept together as a benefit.

Just thinking that makes Louis want to rip apart, it makes him want the ground to swallow him whole, because Harry used to be the man that he could never get enough of because he loved him so deeply. And Louis loves Harry, more than anything else in this world, he just doesn't know how much longer he can go on like this. It's funny how love can be the only thing keeping you bound to someone no matter how much you tear at the seams because of it.

He's all used up, and he feels himself wearing away more and more with each day and each realization. He wants to go out for a smoke, but he also feels like throwing up. He just sits there instead.


	2. Chapter Two

_See my hands, pretty boy_

_What do they tell you?_

_'Cause I've looked down at them, not knowing why_

* * *

Louis hears the front door open a few minutes later with the rustlings of grocery bags and the clanging of keys it sounds like. Being able to recognize those noises so easily makes Louis want to cry for some reason.

His gaze out the window shifted down to his hands wringing in his lap, though he doesn't know exactly when. He can't seem to keep track of anything anymore except for the shards digging into his guts. He clenches his hands harder as he stares down at them.

"I'm home," Harry says quietly to the small apartment. He doesn't say it exaggeratedly yet happy like the people do in the sitcoms, but he rather says it like a self-assurance. Like he needs to convince himself that this is home.

And that makes Louis mad all of the sudden. Because Harry shouldn't have to assure himself; it should never even be a question of whether this home is his or not. No matter how dingy their apartment is, no matter how small it is, it should feel like home to them because they are home to one another; it's their thing, what keeps them connected and going. Louis has a compass tattoo with the word "home" instead of north that matches Harry's ship tattoo because as long as they can find each other, then they're home.

If Louis can't be Harry's home, then how can he do anything else right in their relationship? Another shard digs into Louis' guts. He feels like he's going to throw up. His eyes tear up instead.

He hears rustling coming from the kitchen of Harry putting away the groceries, quietly humming a song to himself that he can't recognize. Louis should be in there helping put up the groceries, he should be shamelessly flirting with his boyfriend as they stow away the cereal, they should be laughing as they do dull domestic things because it's with each other. Yet Louis's still sitting on the window sill with tears in his eyes, feeling sick, and staring at his hands for some reason and he still doesn't fucking know why.

He's fine, and he takes a deep breath to believe himself. He shoots up to stand after that, quickly wiping his eyes that got teary without him noticing, and he moves to the kitchen. It's not far, only a few steps, but it feels like the longest he's ever had to walk before. It makes him feel sick again because he should want to be in the same room as Harry.

Louis stands in the doorway awkwardly as if he doesn't know where he fits in with this image of Harry in the kitchen, because essentially, he doesn't know anymore. His mind tells him to bail, to just silently creep out and go pretend that he fell asleep on the couch waiting for Harry, but his feet stay stuck where he is. He just stares at Harry's back instead of thinking about his heavy stomach anymore because it's the only familiar thing to him.

Harry finally turns around to get more groceries when he notices Louis in the doorway. "Hey Lou," he says with a tired smile on his face, walking over to continue putting away the groceries.

The nickname slides off of Harry's tongue so easily that Louis can almost convince himself that everything is fine, that nothing is wrong, but the distance between them and their stiff demeanor says otherwise, and Louis just can't ignore it anymore. Another shard digs into his insides, although he tries to ignore it.

"Hey Haz, missed you," is all he can manage to say as he steps closer, wanting to help put the groceries away. His anxiety spikes as Harry looks at him, his own boyfriend causing his throat to close and his heart rate to spike in a nervous way rather than an excited way. Louis's not sure if he can choke out another word at this rate.

"Missed you too," Harry says quietly, seeming to try and match the fragile mood around them. Louis wishes that they didn't have to tiptoe around their own house. Another realization hits Louis no matter how small it is, which is the fact that Harry left the "I" off the beginning of "missed you." The difference is minuscule, but Louis knows how much weight is behind it because he couldn't manage to say it either. He feels so heavy.

"Sorry that I'm home so late," Harry explains as he puts away a higher-shelved grocery. Louis remembers how Harry used to tease him about how he could never reach the cabinet before putting those groceries away, but he hardly even seems to be thinking about Louis as he automatically shelves the items without as much of a word. It causes another shard to dig into his stomach and twist achingly. He blinks the tears away to keep listening. "I worked extra hours at the cafe 'cause we needed the money and then thought to grab some groceries on the way home since the list was piling up."

God, Louis loves Harry and how thoughtful and considerate he is, but as his throat closes once they make eye contact and smile small smiles to one another, he just wishes that he knew him still. He wants so badly to just fully understand the arms that he's falling into, but he doesn't, so he stays away.

"Thank you," Louis finally says as he starts to help put away the groceries with Harry. They're almost done now, but Louis thinks that it's the thought that counts. "I was planning on doing that tomorrow, but I'm glad you did it."

Harry shelves the last item and then turns to Louis a beat later, his face unreadable. Louis knows that he used to be able to read that face, just knows it, so he feels another shard dig into his gut and twist when he can't manage to guess what Harry's thinking.

"Yeah, no problem. Anything for you," he breathes out simply, causing Louis to tense up. He feels so small under his gaze for some reason, like he doesn't deserve the way Harry looks at him because he doesn't really know who he's looking at; neither of them do. Louis simply nods to hopefully show understanding. His eyes ache from holding back the tears that keep insisting on sprouting.

Harry steps closer until they are toe to toe, Louis slightly tilting his head to look into his eyes. They're so close, yet they feel miles away. Louis almost reaches out to see if Harry's really there, to see if he's actually real, but he keeps his hands at his sides.

Harry brings his hand up and gently tilts Louis' head a bit more to bring their lips together easily, this being one of the most familiar things to the both of them. Louis brings his hands up to mirror Harry's, but it feels forced somehow.

Louis feels his throat closing, his stomach churning, and his eyes aching as they deepen the kiss. He tries to tell himself that this is good, that this is everything that he needs and wants. Because, really, all he needs is a place to call home and his boy. But this doesn't feel like their home and Harry isn't really his boy anymore.

This shattering realization causes Louis to step out of the kiss and keep his head down toward their feet, still so close but seeming so distant. He feels sick as he wills his tears away. At least they're by the sink so he can just turn if he ends up vomiting.

"Lou, what's wrong?" Harry asks gently, and Louis can imagine the look of worry on his face. He doesn't want to worry Harry; he doesn't want any of this. He still wonders for a second if he should pretend that he's asleep just to get away from the reality of the situation. His throat closes once again to that idea as silly as it was, though, so his feet stay stuck to the cold kitchen tile.

"What's not wrong?" he hears his own voice creak out unevenly, and instantly he wants to take it back. He wants to take back stepping away from the kiss, he wants to take back ever overthinking every aspect of their relationship, he wants to take back not pretending to be asleep. Everything should be fine, they should be kissing, even having their daily sex right now, but he just had to open his mouth, he just had to give into his tearing insides. He doesn't want to be here right now. He's not sure if he wants to be anywhere.

"What's wrong? Babe, what do you mean?" Harry asks with concern lacing his voice, his hand leaving Louis' cheek to rest on his shoulder. He can't take his eyes off of the tiled floor, doesn't think he possibly could with the weight on his shoulders keeping his head down. He doesn't want anything to be wrong, he really doesn't; the last thing he wants to do is tell Harry about what's wrong with them, but he just can't ignore that he doesn't know something as fucking simple as Harry's favorite color.

"I don't know your favorite color," Louis' voice scratches out somehow, his eyes flitting up to meet Harry's nervously. Harry's hand on his shoulder feels so heavy right now, but it doesn't ground him the way it used to when they had serious conversations. Louis wishes he could take his hand off of him.

Suddenly, Harry's concerned face morphs into one of relief as he laughs. Louis' sadness morphs into anger just as quickly, not understanding what Harry is finding so humorous in their suffering relationship.

"Why the fuck are you laughing?" he asks, a heat behind his voice that he hasn't heard in a while. He already feels defeated, though, as he feels so hopeless under Harry's oblivious laughter. He's falling apart in the middle of their kitchen and all Harry can do is laugh at him.

"Because you're being silly," Harry huffs out with a smile. "It's not a big problem, babe, you can just ask me if you forget my favorite color. It happens to the best of us."

"That's... that's not the po-int," Louis' voice cracks once again, feeling his insides shred even more as he has to explain to Harry what's wrong. The sickness lurches in his stomach again, making him feel anxious and clammy under Harry's now-confused gaze. "The point is that I don't know anything about you anymore. We're always just working or having sex but never talking and I just... I don't fucking know you anymore."

"What are you talking about? Just because you don't know my favorite color doesn't mean that we don't know anything about one another-"

"What's my favorite color?" he cuts off Harry's rambling challengingly. His brow creases deeply into his forehead at the interruption. Louis feels a particularly big shard dig in deeply into his insides when he realizes that Harry didn't notice their distance like he did. It's almost as if he doesn't care anymore. Louis' cheeks are wet, but he doesn't remember when that happened.

"That's such a dumb question to make this argument over," Harry stammers frustratedly, slightly pacing now. They're far away from one another now, but it still doesn't match how far Louis feels from him. He wants to push him until he's tired. "Knowing your favorite color or not doesn't determine how much we know each other-"

"You don't know it," Louis realizes with another stab to his stomach, "do you?" Harry stays far away as Louis feels warm tears attempt to wash over the cold tracks of the previous ones. Louis wants to throw something, to yell at Harry, to do fucking something rather than stand silently in a kitchen and cry in front of him.

"Louis," Harry says while taking a step towards him, sounding almost as if he's treading on splintering ice the way he tests his name on his tongue. Somehow, that was the worst thing he could have done, treat Louis like he was fucking breakable and fragile. If he could take this painful drifting away, this shredding of his insides and the pounding of his head, though, then he could take anything Harry threw at him. "We can- I don't know, we can get through this. We can change our work schedules and spend more time together and relearn all of the stuff we've forgotten if it's really bothering you that much."

Harry sounds so fucking earnest, and it only builds the bile in Louis' throat. He wishes, more than anything in the world, that they could work this out, but he's just not so sure anymore if that's possible, at least not right now. Louis just wants to fall apart holding Harry and cry and get over this, but he doesn't know him anymore even though Harry is all he's ever known. He takes a step back as he holds his arms around his churning stomach alone.

"I-I... I don't know if that's possible right now," Louis' voice cracks out, his eye contact remaining inconsistent with Harry's as they dart around the room looking for something, anything, to distract him from his closing throat and sore stomach.

"What- What does that even mean?" Harry stammers our bewildered, gesturing greatly with his confusion. Louis's not even sure what it means, all he knows is that he can't take looking Harry in the eye anymore tonight.

"Harry," Louis chokes out as he finally keeps his eye contact with him.

"Don't say my name like that," he says with agony carved into his features. Louis' heart hurts so badly. "Don't say my name like it's the hardest thing you've ever done."

"I can't live like this anymore." He doesn't want to say it out loud, to admit it, because that makes what's happening that much more real. He just wishes time could stop. None of his wishes seem to be coming true tonight.

"Can't live like, like what?"

"I can't live like- I can't just keep waiting till God-knows-when for you to come home just so we can have sex and go to bed on separate sides, feet away from each other! I can't just keep waking up to an empty bed and you smoking all alone on the balcony in the middle of the night! I thought you hated smoking? I can't keep on living in the same apartment and having sex with someone who- who seems like a stranger to me now!" Louis's almost sobbing now, and Harry has tears falling down his face finally as well. As sick as it is, Louis's glad that he's crying, that he's affected by this too. "I just can't anymore, Harry."

It's silent in the room now after Louis' hefty confession, save for the humming of the refrigerator. Louis wants to slap Harry, to hug him, kiss him, push him, do something other than just cry helplessly in front of one another. His hands are shaking and his head is throbbing and his stomach is churning and Louis just wants it to stop.

"So what are we going to do?" Harry asks finally, his gaze now fixed on the floor, his glossy eyes making Louis sadder somehow.

"I think we should- maybe we should take a break." It's the only thing he can think of doing, not even being able to imagine sleeping next to Harry again right now. He needs his own space to pick these shards from his guts and assess what they truly mean to them before doing anything else. He can't just keep going on and pretending that they're not there anymore.

"Why the hell do we need to go on a break? What would we even do during our break? We can work through this, Louis." Harry sounds a bit hysteric to him now, not understanding what he's meaning. Louis really wishes that he didn't have to spell everything out for him; if would make this a lot less painful.

"I think we just need time to take a break and see if this relationship is the best for us. Maybe even see other people-"

"I don't need a break to know what is best for me," Harry interrupts, not even letting Louis get the idea out. "You're what's best for me; you're what I need, Louis. You're home."

"I know that; you're home to me too!" Louis snaps frustratedly with tears altering his view of Harry across from him. "I'm just not sure if I know what home is anymore. How am I supposed to find that in you, be that for you even, if we don't know a damn thing about each other anymore?"

He tries to recompose himself, blink the tears out of his eyes and straighten his back, but that just sends them cascading down his face and causes his back to ache along with the rest of him. He doesn't know how to act around Harry anymore.

"I- I love you, Louis. What else can I say?" Harry chokes out, his hand suddenly on Louis' shoulder again. Louis brings his hand up to put on top of his hand and squeezes it weakly.

"Please," he hoarsely whispers, "don't- don't say that. I don't know what to do with that right now. I just can't."

He takes Harry's hand off of his shoulder and rather brings it down to hold it between them. It feels like their only connection right now, like nothing else in this world is binding them together at this moment. Louis needs to wipe his eyes, but he stays holding Harry's hand instead.

"What do you want me to do? What can I possibly do to make this better?" Louis wishes that he could take the pain and hopelessness out of Harry's voice, but he knows that he's the one who caused it. If anything, he's the one that deserves to have his insides ripping apart into thousands of little pieces.

"I want you to think, not just mindlessly say that I'm what you need, but actually think about what you want and what's best for you. This relationship is just as much yours as it is mine; stop acting like I'm the one who makes the calls for the both of us." Harry remains motionless in front of him, his hand limp in Louis' grip. What's the point of holding on when the other person clearly isn't?

"I'm gonna stay at Stan's house for a while, not sure how long, but until I can understand what I actually want. I hope you do the same in this time." Louis feels as if he's speaking to a brick wall at this point, the only sign of life from Harry being his rising and falling chest and the tear tracks on his cheeks that are occasionally refreshed. Louis feels sick still, and he just wants this feeling to go away. He finally lets go of Harry's hand, wrapping his arms around his stomach again to try and hold himself together.

Harry wordlessly leaves the kitchen towards the living room, causing another shard to dig into Louis even though he didn't realize anything this time. He's just in pain now, the lack of resolve leaving his wounds raw and seizing painfully. And when he hears Harry turn on the TV briefly just to turn it back off from the other room, Louis's back to staring at his hands with tears in his eyes once again.


	3. Chapter Three

_And after everything's done and I'm all undone_

_You can hear my high heels walking on_

* * *

After Louis stared silently at his hands for a good five minutes, he gathered enough courage and held the bile rising in his throat down to face Harry in the living room. He insisted on sleeping on the couch, but rather than responding to him, Harry simply got up to grab some blankets and laid them down make a suitable pallet for the night in a silent refusal. He then plopped into the spot wordlessly, laying down to just stare past him at the wall.

Louis wishes that Harry would have screamed at him, been rude to him, been straight-up cruel to him, anything else other than this blank wall that Louis couldn't see himself breaking down. It pinned all of the guilt onto his shoulders, made his bones ache with every little move. So right after calling Stan to ask him if he could crash there for a while, Louis marched to their bedroom and immediately crashed into their bed, still in his jeans.

He didn't have the strength to move anymore with all of the guilt pinned onto him, so he reflected Harry from the other room and stared at the colorless wall feeling completely empty. Louis remembered how they had planned to paint the wall a cute and bright color to bring charm to the dingy apartment, to make this place feel like home, but Louis supposed that they got too busy with work to even do that. It twisted in his gut along with the other realizations.

As he held his stomach all alone in their queen-sized bed, Louis realized that this might be his last time ever laying here. He clutched his gut with one hand and laid his other over the empty space where Harry was supposed to be. Louis wished that he could just rest next to Harry for one last time, regretting how he wasn't even aware that the night before was possibly their last night sleeping together. Everything that he'd ever done with Harry might have been his last time doing it with him ever; last kiss to the forehead, last hug, last breakfast in bed, last date, last shower together, last holding hands, last of everything.

And with that particularly large shard of realization digging into him, Louis finally allowed himself to cry. He cried for what seemed like hours wrapped up in the duvet too large for just him and clutched onto it for dear life. He didn't let out a quiet sniffle every now and then, but he was full-on sobbing into the night alone in what was supposed to be his and his boyfriend's bed; it didn't really feel like either of theirs anymore, though. He cried until his eyes physically hurt from not having anymore tears; he cried until he felt dehydrated. And with that exhaustion and pain aching over his body and coating his bones, he finally passed out.

Despite falling asleep fairly late in the night, Louis woke up early, the sun just then beginning to coat the world with light. He closed the blinds to shut out its annoying bright presence before he packed his necessities into a box that was left over from when they moved into the apartment. Once the box was relatively full of the stuff he would need for a few weeks, he left the room quickly, forcing himself to not take one last lengthy look around the room in case he never came back, in case him and Harry didn't work out. He didn't want to think about that; he didn't want to add onto the tons of shards already digging into his insides. Louis felt that if Harry decided to throw him into a pool right then, he would immediately sink to the bottom with all of the weight in his gut.

The house was eerily quiet save for Louis' shoes that slightly squeaked down the hallway. Harry was usually awake by now, either making them breakfast or doing yoga. Louis found him still asleep on the couch, and he looked more peaceful than he had seen him in a long while. The switched roles made him feel sick in the bright early morning.

In order to not get weepy or fight again, Louis decided to write something for Harry on a little sticky note before quietly dragging out of the apartment for possibly the last time. After he scribbled the message down, he left it on the middle of the coffee table in the living room so it could be found easily and proceeded to leave the house without as much as a word.

"Went off to Stan's. I hope you actually think about what's best for you. - Louis." That was all the note said, only enough to let Harry know where he was heading off to and get his point across.

As Louis walked down the joined hallway for all of the apartments over to the elevator with his sad box in his hands, his footsteps resounded eerily in his mind, each step bringing him closer to whatever his future held. It was supposed to be hopeful, enlightening, maybe even empowering, but Louis couldn't help but feel like he was leaving behind the greatest thing he ever had as his gut twisted and threatened to make what little was in his stomach come up.

As he walked down the hallway, he couldn't help but remember the first time him and Harry walked, or rather ran, through it after they bought the apartment together. It was their first living place together after they both finished college, and Louis remembered racing down the hallway with Harry and laughing loudly with the key to their new apartment in his hand. They ran around and fought for it until Harry cornered Louis against their apartment door. He then gave him a sweet kiss that he deepened quickly, causing Louis to completely forget his surroundings and wrap his arms around Harry. After disarming him with the kiss, Harry sneakily stole the key from Louis' hands and ran off, laughing loudly as Louis chased him.

Louis missed who they were then with every bone in his body as he heard his solitary footsteps echo down the hallway. But that wasn't them anymore, and the sooner he accepted that, the better off they'd both be. He clutched onto his box tightly and stepped into the elevator to move forward.

Which leads to now, Louis sitting alone in Stan's spare bedroom with the few items he brought haphazardly packed around the room to make it seem familiar. He still feels sick like before, but he also feels empty, like he'd dry heave for hours if he tried to gag the sick feeling out of himself. He's been sitting on the bed staring at a wall for a while now.

Stan greeted him as welcomely as expected from a friend you haven't talked to in a while who doesn't know what your current relationship problems are. Luckily, he must have seen how tired Louis looked and how red his eyes were because he didn't push as to why he was crashing here or for how long. It was nice, and Louis was glad. He didn't really feel the emotion of gladness, though, more like relief. He pushes down on his stomach absentmindedly with his hand in an attempt to ease the pain. It doesn't help.

He pushes up off of the bed suddenly instead, grabbing for his cigarettes and lighter before heading out to the balcony attached to his room. It's a fairly nice balcony; it has a small fireplace and a few chairs, but Louis is more concerned about just having a place to smoke. Louis doesn't think much really, hasn't since he made the big possible-last-times realization last night, so he mainly relies on his basic motor skills to light the cigarette and bring it to his lips as he overlooks the town.

It's a different part of town that him and Harry are used to, far away enough that he's not scared of running into him anywhere. Just the thought of that causes his grip on the metal banister to tighten.

He stays there like that for a while, gripping the banister as he stares out at the town and smokes one, two, three cigarettes back to back. His mind is still throbbing despite how smoking usually calms him down. He still feels so fragile. He bangs his fist on the metal banister just to prove to himself that he's not. It hurts, so he brings his third cigarette to his lips again to ignore it.

Towards the end of his third cigarette, Louis' eyes focus on a worn-in looking bar. It seems charming enough and only a bit of a walk away. He stares at the dead neon sign for the bar as he finishes up his cigarette, already wanting another.

Rather than indulging, though, he sighs and stalks off to the kitchen to possibly talk or keep Stan some company. He has to return the favor of Stan letting him crash, he just isn't sure how right now; he's not quite sure how to do much of anything right now.

As Louis quietly pads to the kitchen, he can hear the rustling of bags and silverware as Stan most likely fixes up something for himself to eat for lunch. The lack of humming that Harry would have been doing is blatantly apparent in the otherwise silent household, and Louis digs his nails into his palms to try to will Harry out of his mind. It doesn't really work.

He walks through the doorframe to see Stan arranging two sandwiches on the counter, some chips on the island of the kitchen. Louis can't tell if he's glad that Stan's apartment is way nicer than his and Harry's since he doesn't think about it a lot, or if he's upset about it since an apartment like that was what Harry deserved. Instead of addressing the idea, Louis rather clears his aching throat to get Stan's attention.

He turns around and his eyes brighten once they land on Louis. "Oh, Louis, hey! Are you hungry? I was just fixing us up some sandwiches, and you can choose whatever chips you want too, if you'd like," Stan says with an overly nice tone to his voice.

Louis knows that he's trying to help him the best he can without being invasive of what's going on between him and Harry, but the shifted atmosphere makes Louis focus on the pain ever-growing in his gut. He still gives Stan a small smile for his best efforts, warming up Louis' heart to some degree.

"A sandwich sounds nice, thanks mate," Louis reassures, suddenly noticing how he hasn't eaten since lunch yesterday. Stan gives him a relieved smile, like he got a guessing game right, and Louis tries not to think about it too much.

"Hey," Louis says conversationally as Stan finishes up the sandwiches.

"Hmm?"

"We should go to that bar a few blocks away from here; it'd be nice to go out, don't you think?" Louis offers as he stares at another wall. He can't break his gaze no matter how hard he tries, but he stopped trying a while ago anyway. He's not really sure what he's saying anymore, but he just needs to move around and not be stuck in one place to think about all of the things he did wrong when it came to Harry.

"Uh, are you sure that's the best for you right now?" Stan says with worry and concern lightly treading the tone of his voice. "I mean, I'm down to go out and do anything you want, but if you just want to hang out here with me and watch movies and stuff, I'd be cool with that too."

Stan really is a good friend, offering his time and house in order to comfort Louis even though he doesn't know his situation. He could be crashing here because Harry kicked him out for cheating and Stan wouldn't even know, but he'd still offer to do the same things with just as much kindness. It was that similar trait in Harry that Louis remembers admiring first in their friendship so long ago.

"That sounds nice, but I want to go out tonight," Louis responds in order to snap the reoccurring thought of Harry out of his head. It doesn't really work, but at least now he has to worry about going to the bar instead of staring off into space thinking about Harry. He wonders how his day is going before Stan replies and snaps him out of his daze.

"Okay man, you're the one calling the shots," Stan conforms to his idea conversationally as he hands Louis a plate with his sandwich. After adding a few chips, Louis follows him to the living room where they proceed to sit silently and watch a game of soccer, except it's college level so Louis doesn't know much about it.

It doesn't matter, though, because his mind is too busy twisting and turning over all of the possibilities of what Harry is doing right this moment as he blankly eats his sandwich and chips to focus. It tastes bland, much like everything else has become to him recently.

Despite his vigilance, Louis can't help but wonder if Harry has a friend over right now, if he's called or texted him yet, if he's still possibly asleep right now. Louis turned off his phone after getting to Stan's, knowing that he couldn't handle it if Harry sent any sort of message or left any kind of voice mail.

After he finishes his bland food, he stares off to the TV screen though he's more distracted by his mind than anything. His mind zeros in and focuses on the outline of his phone in his pocket, being intimidatingly shut off. Despite all of the measures he's taken to make sure his phone is off, he still wishes that his phone would ring with a certain caller on the other side. He's almost tempted to check. Instead, he goes out for another smoke and stays churning in his room for the rest of the evening.


	4. Chapter Four

_Clickity-clacking through the night_

_I'm carrying my bag of bones_

* * *

Louis and Stan's feet scrape against the pavement as they walk the few blocks over to the bar in the chilly air of the night. They had a drink or two before going just to make it actually seem like a night out. It still doesn't feel like that to Louis, though, more like a desperate attempt to take his mind off of Harry and what his favorite color actually is, but he just shoves his hands in his pockets as he keeps his eyes focused on the sidewalk.

It's a bit cold outside, but Louis still wore a simple band t-shirt with some random black skinny jeans he found. He hadn't really worn an outfit like this in a while, not since him and Harry went through their matching alternative phase, but it was the best of what he grabbed on his way out of the apartment. Louis looks and focuses on his appearing and disappearing breath in the cold air rather than dwelling on anything, seeing as how thinking just makes his gut heavier.

Both of the boys are fairly warmed up due to the early alcohol, but the air still bites at Louis a bit. Stan had tried to get him to wear a jacket or something to break the chilly wind, but Louis opted out of it. It was a thing Louis always did, insist on not needing a jacket even though he tended to be colder than the average person. Maybe it was because he always ended up fooling himself into thinking the nights were warmer than they actually were, or maybe it was because Harry would always give up his own jacket for Louis once he got cold. Despite his reasons, Harry's not here now to help ease the cold from him. He figured if it was painfully cold tonight, he most likely deserved it.

As they approach the bar after walking for a while in relative silence, Louis takes note of how the bar seems less quaint in the night and more sketchy than anything. Stan said he and his buddies had gone to the bar once or twice, but they left the soon after since they were bar hopping, so he didn't have much of an idea for the place.

Louis assumes Stan thinks he wants to get laid tonight since he was so hesitant when he introduced the idea of going earlier, but all Louis wants to do is dance and forget about the insistent beating of his heart. The idea sounds nice to him. Harry used to put his head against Louis' chest really late at night and whisper out the beat of his heart rhythmically when he couldn't go to sleep to lull him to rest. Louis squeezes his fists and digs his nails into his hands in order to focus on entering the bar instead of Harry.

After passing by the bouncer with ease, the man not really caring if they were of age as long as they were paying patrons, Louis and Stan slip into the building. It's fairly full considering that it's a week night and not the best bar in town, seeming more worn-down rather than a charming rugged look. Louis has gone to his fair share of bars with Harry and their friends, though most of them were gay bars, so the image in front of him of sweaty men and women pressing up on each other is vaguely foreign to him.

Instead of thinking of Harry, he focuses on the bodies casually brushing up against him from every which way like he's not even there. Louis loudly suggests over the pulsing music for them to go get some shots, as to which Stan agrees easily.

They walk up to he bar, getting approached by the bartender to ask what they want to drink after getting done with serving some other people. Louis orders shots for the both of them, assuming that paying for their drinks is the least he can do for Stan. When the bartender returns with their order, he throws the shot back immediately to try and shake off his tenseness.

After throwing back his shot, the bartender nudges a colorful and seemingly fruity drink towards him. A look of confusion takes over Louis' face, trying to wordlessly communicate that he's got the wrong order.

"This one is from the lovely lady over there who insisted on getting you this drink," the bartender tells him when he leans forward to be heard over the music. Louis has yet another look of confusion overcome his face as he looks in the direction the bartender pointed to find who gifted him the free drink.

He catches her eye from across the bar, as if she was waiting for him to look in her direction. There is nothing really eye-catching about her, if Louis was honest. She had brown hair, tan skin, a strong jawline, but her face was quite plain from what he could see. It's definitely not a girl that would grab his attention from a crowd, though it wasn't like he was ever seeking out girls.

He feels bad for brutally judging this most-likely sweet girl that paid for his drink, so he decides to have the decency to go tell her why he's not into her.

Stan gives him a wink as he picks up the drink and starts to head over to her, obviously getting the wrong idea and making Louis feel a bit sick as he throws him a small smile to reassure him. He had never really come out to Stan about his exact sexuality, all he knew was that Louis was dating Harry and that he was happy; there wasn't much more to say other than that then. Louis thought that loving Harry was all that really mattered.

Louis tries not to spill the drink as he swivels through hot bodies dancing and mingling as he feels his stomach churn once more. He wonders for a moment why this girl immediately bought him a drink. Louis hardly considers himself good looking in retrospect of Harry, and he must look so tired right now, so defeated. He figures that the girl has either already had too much to drink, or she's into the sickly looking white boys that seem one cigarette away from dying, or both. That's how Louis feels right now at least.

He approaches the girl with a smile that most likely resembles a grimace more than anything, a poor attempt at looking friendly. The girl smiles back in way that Louis perceives as seductive, and it makes a wave of nausea overcome him for a moment. It's not that the prospect of sleeping with a girl is sickening to Louis, it's just that the prospect of sleeping with anyone else other than Harry feels sickening since he's the only person he's ever slept with. He snaps out of his daze by focusing on the girl's words that were suddenly coming out of her mouth.

"Hey there," she says simply, lightly reaching over and touching Louis' shoulder to lean forward in order to be heard. He doesn't really think the contact is necessary, but that's how flirting often goes.

"Hi, I assume you're the one who got me this drink?" he asks dumbly, the physical contact causing his brain to be sent into overdrive, but not really in the good way.

"Yup, that's me. I hope you know that I only give drinks to pretty boys," she says slyly, though there is a slur to her words. She's probably a bit more than tipsy like Louis expected, but he feels bad for her wasting her money on him since she seems to be a nice girl. He throws her back a smile somehow.

"Thank you; you're a beautiful girl yourself, but I'm sorry to say that I'm gay. It'd probably be smarter for you to give this drink to someone else that'd actually be interested. I didn't drink it or slip anything into it, I promise," Louis somehow manages to get out to the girl. He's sick of having to apologize for being gay, but he saw that as the best route to get out of this situation. It's always easier to get rejected when the blame is on someone else.

The girl's face turns red immediately and takes the drink Louis was offering to her before going off with a simple "sorry about that." He's glad that she didn't get mad at him or accuse him of lying in order to turn her down because drunk people tend to do stupid shit like that all of the time. Louis lets out a sigh of relief and turns back to go find Stan.

He remembers when men used to hit on either him or Harry when they'd go out to gay bars together. They usually hit on Harry because, come on, the man was like a Greek statue come to life, which resulted in Louis going red in the face and protectively warding them off. He wanted to get into fights sometimes when he'd become too fed up with strangers flirting with his oblivious boyfriend, but Harry always calmed him down and reassured him from doing so. One time when a particularly handsy guy hit on Louis, Harry almost resorted to the same violence, but Louis mocked him from all of the times he had to calm him down which stopped it from ever happening.

With those memories fresh in his mind, the both of them usually going back home to have a good night by themselves, Louis feels more shards dig into his insides as random bodies brush up all around him, more interested in the music than his stumbling. He kind of wishes he took that girl's drink now, not nearly having enough alcohol in his system to make this tolerable.

Louis tries to spot Stan back where he left him, but he rather finds him when his eyes wander to near the far left corner. He seems to be chatting up a girl, both of them laughing, and Louis's glad that he's actually getting something good out of this night because he sure isn't.

Right as he sees Stan lean forward to the girl, his sight is obstructed by the frame of some guy in the way. Louis goes around him to reach the outskirts of the dance floor and be out of everyone's way, but the man in front of him lightly grabs his arm and speaks to him.

"Are you gay?" the man asks, weirding Louis out with the simple question. The man is fairly taller than him, though he's more lanky than muscular. He can't see his face well in the dark lighting of the bar.

"Why are you asking?" Louis answers with another question, not wanting to admit his sexuality to a man that could possibly be threatening. It's not like it's widely accepted everywhere, so he still has to be careful, especially in normal bars like this.

"I heard you tell that girl back over there that you were gay," the man responds, his eyes locked on Louis'. He can see now that he has short brown hair, brown eyes, and a bit of a scruffy beard. He isn't Louis' type, he's not sure if he has much of one other than Harry, but he also doesn't seem the type to commit hate crimes on gays.

"Well, sounds like you already heard it from me," Louis attempts to say mundanely as he pulls his arm out of the taller's man grasp. He just wants another drink and maybe even another smoke, not to be questioned by some random guy over his sexual preferences.

Suddenly, the man's hand grabs his arm again and turns him around from how he was previously trying to walk away. "Why do you have to be snarky? It was just a simple question," the man says with heat behind his voice, causing Louis to yank his arm out of his grasp now.

"Well, it's none of your business, is it?" Louis responds with just as much heat behind his voice in an attempt to show the odd and intimidating man that he wasn't interested in talking anymore. Right before he turns around to escape and get another drink and continue on with his night, the man pulls his fist back and launches it at Louis' left eye swiftly.

Louis lets out a quick curse and cradles his eye for a second to process the pain. By the time he looks up to yell at the man, he's already gone. He tries to suppress his anger by telling himself that the random weirdo isn't worth getting into a fight over anyway. He thinks to himself what was possibly wrong with that creep to make him punch him as he works his way through the dancing crowd to the exit, already having enough of this night.

All he wanted was to take his mind off of Harry and the heavy feeling in his stomach tonight, but all he did was think of Harry more than before and add more shards to his gut along with getting punched in the face for no fucking reason. He just feels so heavy now as he tries to escape the damn bar, his body reducing to feel like a useless vessel to carry his pain. He feels like a bag of bones by the time he finally worms his way out of the bar and into the cold and stale night air.

He figures that Stan will be more than alright, probably planning on bringing that girl back to the apartment at some point tonight. Louis sends him a quick text to let him know where he went off to. And with Louis finally releasing his hand from his pulsing eye and ignoring his feeling of emptiness underlying all of his pain, he walks on in the cold night, only hearing his footsteps walking along all alone.


	5. Chapter Five

_Fluorescent store lights, you shine through the night_

_Illuminate my pores and you tear me apart_

* * *

A little bell jingles as Louis pushes the door of the local convenience store open, sending a sharp pain through his mind due to his headache. He figures that it's because of the punch he received earlier, but he's kind of had a headache ever since he left his and Harry's apartment earlier this morning. He prefers to focus on his headache and his aching eye rather than the pain in his gut, though.

Aside from his head killing him, Louis' eye is swelling and he's craving something to comfort the aching in his stomach. He knows it's not because of hunger, but there hasn't been a pain that crappy convenient store junk food couldn't cure for him so far.

He treads on to the cold drink section in the back, needing something cold to help the swelling of his eye and keep him from feeling like a dead man walking. He's so tired, and the bright store lights make him feel as if he's outstretched on a surgery table with countless untrained surgeons picking and poking and tearing at him. He wants to grab a Redbull as he stands and stares silently at the drink section in the relatively quiet store, but he's so tired and doesn't want to be awake to think anymore. So, he grabs a water bottle instead and presses it to his eye and cheek before shuffling off to the junk food section.

He remembers purging on junk food with Harry countless times when they'd take a road trip to go see their families when the holidays rolled around. Harry always sported a healthy lifestyle and encouraged Louis to eat healthy like him for his benefit, but for some reason, he'd always purge and give in only for gas station junk food. That led to many instances of Louis educating Harry on the best junk food for road trips since he considered it to be his personal expertise, which would make Harry laugh probably louder than acceptable as Louis gave him serious reviews on products with silly and childish names.

The memory causes Louis to tense up, not wanting to think of Harry anymore tonight. To block the memory out, he grabs a handful of chip and candy bags without really looking before shuffling to the cashier with the cold bottle still pressed against his eye. He drops the items onto the counter wordlessly, not capable of much small talk to be friendly to the worker.

"Rough night?" the man behind the counter asks sympathetically. Louis looks up to him to find a surprisingly attractive man considering that he's in an relatively empty store in the middle of the night. He looks fit and Japanese, with dark hair and tanned skin that still somehow looks good under the crappy fluorescent lights. He looks at Louis with eyes too bright for the hour and a face that seems understanding for some reason.

"Yeah, you could say that," Louis supplies to the conversation, not quite sure what to say. He just wants to go home and sleep his consciousness and aching body away. The cashier smiles and chuckles a bit, finding Louis' defeated tone amusing.

"I've been there, trust me. Got into a bar fight or what?" the man continues as he checks out the junk food.

"It wasn't as much of a bar fight as it was a random man punching me in the face for no reason and then running away," Louis mutters quietly, his face heating up since he had to take the cold bottle of water off so it could get checked out. The man hands him back the bottle after he rings it up with a wince on his face.

"Ouch, for no reason? Sounds like a dickhead if I've ever heard of one. I'm sorry on your behalf, man." This man seems very nice with his charming conversation skills, and Louis wishes he could return the favor, but he just doesn't have the strength or focus to right now.

"I mean, all the man did was ask me if I was gay and then clocked me when I didn't answer him directly, but I mean it was weird. I shouldn't have gone out anyway, though, no need to be sorry for me," Louis rambles as the man bags his items, trying his best to be polite and conversational. He reads the man's name tag as he hands him his card to pay, the name "Marcus" written into the tag.

"Yeah, that guy does sound weird. Wish you would have punched him back; he had it coming," Marcus says with a conversational smile as he writes up his receipt.

"Oh, you don't need to write up the receipt, I don't think I'll need to refund any of these," Louis says with a small smile as he motions towards his bag of junk food. Marcus lets out a small laugh at the joke.

"I don't doubt it, but it's just the store protocol," he says with a wink as he holds out the receipt. Louis takes it with a confused look on his face. "Well, I hope your night gets better."

Louis returns the small smile and says a simple "you too," before turning and exiting the store with the receipt in his hand for some reason. He looks down to it once he's outside of the store, wondering why it's the "store's protocol," just to find scratched out handwriting on it.

"If you want someone to take you out for a good night, call me. - Marcus" the note read with a number to go with the message. Louis almost drops the water he's still holding to his eye, not expecting any sort of message like that. He quickly shoves the receipt in his pocket without paying it any mind other than a slight blush as he begins walking, planning on throwing it away when he gets home.

He wonders why the hell people started being interested in him when he feels his absolute worst, the girl getting him a drink although he probably looked like a hollow insomniac and now the cashier giving him his number when he literally had a black eye. It doesn't make sense to him, but nothing really makes sense to him anymore with his aching head and the sharp pain in his gut. He hasn't made sense to himself since he talked to Harry last night.

Though he's freezing as the cold night whips around him as he makes his way back to Stan's apartment, Louis's glad that he's finally in the dark. Something about the store lights made him feel split open, even more so than right now.

Usually on cold night walks like this, him and Harry would either huddle up as they walked or take turns giving piggyback rides. Though Louis' rides given to Harry were significantly shorter than the ones Harry gave him, it was the thought that counted.

He pushes the cold bottle against his eye harder to snap the memory out of his mind, the coldness being more present now as his gut churns with Harry's absence. God, how he wishes that he didn't ever confront Harry.

Sure, maybe they would have gone on to robotically continue their relationship merely based on routine and nothing else, but that sounds better to Louis right now than walking alone on a cold dark night with a swollen eye and a heavy stomach. He wonders what Harry's doing right now, wonders if he went out too or if he stayed in and cried, wonders if he's even cried at all yet. Maybe this distance is making Harry realize that he doesn't actually love or need Louis, maybe this is making him realize what a burden Louis was to him.

Louis turns and throws up what little he ate for lunch on the side of the pavement, not being able to handle the nauseous feeling in his stomach anymore, dry heaving after it's all out. It sobers him up mostly, and he wipes his mouth once he finishes and continues to walk home despite the tears in his eyes clouding his vision, trying to act like everything is fine because yes, everything is fine. He just needs to get home, needs to make it to his bed, needs to smoke one more cigarette, needs to do something other than be out in this cold night hopelessly thinking of Harry.

He wants to drink his water to get the gross taste of bile out of his mouth, but he needs to keep the bottle pressed against his aching eye. Luckily, he makes it home a couple minutes later, shuffling down the sidewalk curled in on himself due to his pathetic t-shirt and skinny jeans to the apartment complex.

Walking home alone in the middle of the night was probably not the best idea now that he thinks about it, but he can't seem to care as he opens the door with the copy of the key that Stan gave him.

Louis immediately makes his way to the guest bedroom, his body feeling heavier with every step now that he's in the warm air of the apartment. He crashes into the bed still in his jeans for the second night in a row, leaving the bag of junk food on the floor as he just lays in the bed finally.

Though he can't sleep on his left side since his eye hurts too much, Louis doesn't really care since he's so exhausted. He hazily stares out the glass door that opens up to the balcony, the lack of night stars in the sky making him think of Harry for some reason.

He closes his eyes finally to snap the last thought out of his mind, more than ready to fall asleep. After laying there for what feels like thirty minutes, though, Louis tiredly opens his eyes. He can't seem to fall asleep no matter how exhausted he is, his gut never tiring of churning and aching with all of the shards in it. It feels as if some mysterious force refuses to go let him sleep, something like guilt or regret. He looks at the clock to find it reads 1:43 a.m.

Louis remembers when he and Harry used to stay up this late or even later just talking about nonsense, laughing one another into the late hours or having serious discussions. He remembers those being the best nights because even though he didn't get as much sleep as he needed, he always had the feeling of using the entire day to the best of his ability by spending as much time as possible with Harry.

Louis sits up suddenly, leaving the water on the bedside stand since it's gone warm by now. He can't just lay and think about all of the things he misses about Harry, he just can't take it anymore.

He stands up, ignoring the pounding in his head as he walks over to his box that he brought with some of his stuff in it. Defeatedly, Louis reaches into the box and takes out one of the shirts of Harry's that he stole, smelling his familiar scent alone in the dark room as he collects even more shards to his insides. He thought he'd last longer than this.

He feels tears finally fall down his face as he breathes his smell in, missing every inch of him. It's so crazy to him that even though he lost Harry a long time ago, it's all becoming painfully real to him now. He stands there just breathing in the shirt for a while, not really caring if it's weird anymore because he can't stop crying, his hiccuping jabbing at his headache.

After a while, though, Louis brings the crumpled up shirt away from his nose and to his chest as he continues to rummage through the box. He can't just keep thinking of Harry, he needs to get all of the thoughts constantly swirling in his head out somehow, all of the thoughts of just Harry, Harry, Harry. He remembers grabbing a journal he had hardly ever used before and putting it in the box for some reason this morning, so he searches until he finds that.

After doing so and then finding a pen as well as a blanket to huddle around him, Louis went out to the balcony with a pack of cigarettes and the journal in the middle of night. He sat huddled on the balcony with Harry's shirt held close to his chest and wrote as he smoked into the morning, and he tried to ignore the burning of the receipt in his pocket and the aching of his tired body.

As he drained every agonizing thought of Harry and them out of his mind onto the paper, he told himself that he was fine, that this was for the best. He almost burned Harry's shirt because he had absentmindedly tried to smell it while he had a countless cigarette in his mouth, but he's fine. And he tells himself that this is for the best as his cramped hands clutch the journal, blanket, and Harry's shirt to his chest as his aching and tired eyes watch the sun rise hours later.


	6. Chapter Six

_Mercy on me, would you please spare me tonight?_

_I'm tired of this searching, would you let me let go?_

* * *

After finally falling asleep under the glow of the sunrise in the early morning, Louis rested for a while until he was shamefully found and woken up by Stan. It wasn't his best moment for sure, being found in the cold morning collapsed on a balcony floor with his boyfriend-that-he's-taking-a-break-from's shirt clutched to his chest with a black eye. Louis tried to ignore his burning cheeks and throbbing eye by appreciating that he got a few hours of sleep for once. Luckily, Stan didn't comment or ask about Louis' black eye.

Now he's sat desolately on the guest bed wanting to eat but also being too scared of throwing it all up again to do so. He had shoved Harry's shirt along with the journal deep into the box again, trying to act as if last night wasn't the worst night of his life. He wants to smoke again, but he decides to do something somewhat productive and take a shower instead.

As pathetic as it sounds, Louis asked for a few days off from work in wake of his and Harry's break. He knew that simply being away from Harry shouldn't render him fucking useless, he knows that, but he doesn't know if he even wants to keep on acting like nothing has changed because everything has changed. Harry isn't next to him in bed anymore, he can't even entertain the idea of kissing him in the morning, and he's not even sure if he'll have another chance to do it again. He can't go back to work just yet and act like this never even happened and that's he's fine, act like there isn't a fucking huge hole in his chest.

Louis shoves his thoughts and the aching feeling in his stomach aside by pushing the bathroom door open a bit too hard, starting the shower to warm it up. After he locks the door and undresses for the shower, he turns and stares at himself in the mirror for the first time since the night Louis made the dumbest decision in his life. Or maybe it wasn't the dumbest decision he's ever made, but it sure feels like it as he traces his purpling left eye.

Although it's only been technically almost two days since he and Harry decided on the break, the effects are already apparent over Louis' frame. Blemished bags circle under his eyes due to the lack of sleep, though one of his eyes has various shades of purple and blue all around it. He also seems to be thinner than he usually is, probably since the distance between him and Harry had caused him to lose his appetite for a few weeks prior already. His hair is greasy, his eyes are sunken, and his cheekbones are too angular due to his hollowed cheeks; his appearance seems unnatural and unhealthy.

The tattoos littering his body seem so dumb now that he's pathetically staring at them all alone in a bathroom that isn't his. Every matching tattoo makes him feel sicker and sicker, just now thinking of them and what they mean. He traces his bony fingers over Harry's handwriting that's permanently etched into his arm; "Given a chance..."

Louis blanches for a moment, clutching his arm and trying to cover up the tattoo. No matter how big his hands are, though, he can't possibly cover up every matching tattoo him and Harry have, every permanently etched symbol of their love now feeling futile. He just feels so, so dumb and the pain in his stomach has become so sharp and he has another headache already coming on and it's not even noon yet.

Why can someone he used to love so much have this horrible of an effect on him?

By the time Louis looks back to the mirror to criticize himself again, it's fogged up since the shower has finally warmed. Louis decides to head into the shower and let the water help him forget what tears are actually his or not, but on his way, his foot brushes over a piece of paper.

Upon further inspection, he realizes it's the receipt with Marcus' number on it paired with the invitation for a "good night out." His face heats up immediately at even the thought of taking up the offer considering Harry, and he crumples the paper in his fist. Nothing stops him from shoving the paper into a random drawer rather than the trash can, though.

Louis then steps into the warm spray of the shower, expecting the stress to roll off his shoulders with the warm water washing over him. His expectations are hardly met, though, as the water makes him tense up and curl into himself rather than relax.

Harry always loved hot showers, hot enough to turn his skin red and stay that way for at least thirty minutes after the shower. Weirdly enough, Louis grew up favoring colder showers, not completely freezing, but more chilly than the average warm shower. Since Harry loved taking showers with him, though, Louis had to train himself to tolerate the hot water, even appreciate it.

But it's been about two months since him and Harry last showered together, yet Louis has taken every shower hot in hopes of having another one with Harry at any point. Now that he realizes that it may never happen again, the warm water all of the sudden feels scorching, like flames licking at his sides and torturing him for ever trying to pursue Harry. He kind of wishes that the water would melt him and wash him down the drain.

He needs this to stop, he needs to find his own identity in more than Harry, in more than a man he used to know, so he reaches for the shower handle and wrenches it to the coldest setting.

The sudden change shocks his body somewhat, leaving him frozen as the cold water helps wipe away the tears from his face. It hurts and he's shivering, but Louis just tells himself that he deserves this. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Harry's pained face when he suggested taking a break, so he just stands under the cold stream and takes it because he, of all people, hurt Harry.

The cold water does help him speed up with the rest of his washing, finishing the shower a few minutes later. When he steps out of the shower, he notices how the mirror has become a mess of fog and water streaks to where his reflection is cut up. He supposes that he did make the bathroom into an environment suitable for a tornado, mixing the hot and cold so quickly. He wishes that a tornado would swallow him up right now and take him to somewhere better than where he is right now. He supposes once again that he doesn't really deserve wishes anymore.

After drying off, Louis wraps a towel around his waist and starts to make his way back towards his room. He hears a hushed voice running through the hallways, though, and decides to walk in that direction to hear better.

"...not doing good," he hears Stan say with a quiet and worried tone. The sick feeling is back in his stomach, though it's a bit different this time. There's a small gap of silence before Stan speaks again.

"I'm really worried about him. I think he's worse than Harry, if I'm being honest." Louis knows that he shouldn't listen, knows that it'd be best for him if he just went and slept some more in an actual bed or even if he went out for a smoke. His feet stay helplessly stuck to the floor, though, as he feels himself shiver from only being in a towel as he listens on.

"He's hardly eating, I think he got into some kind of fight last night at the bar because he has a nasty black eye, and I found him this morning asleep on the cold balcony floor with a journal and a shirt I suspect is Harry's. Plus, I've lost count of how many times he's gone out to have a smoke. It's bad, Niall," Stan rambles to the phone in a rushed tone, worry heavily apparent in his voice.

Although it's sweet that Stan is worried about him, Louis feels tears falling from his eyes, betrayal somehow resounding in his heart. He didn't come here to be judged by Stan, much less for him to spill the worst parts of him to their friends. He also hadn't really realized just how bad he was until he heard someone else talk about him. He hopes that Harry is doing much better than he is anyway.

Not being able to hear anymore, he decides to end whatever conversation that was going on. "Stan?" he asks at the entrance of the hallway, sounding and looking heartbroken as he coldly drips in a towel with tears streaking his face.

Stan's head snaps up immediately to meet Louis' eyes, his full of panic and Louis' full of hurt. Maybe he's being overdramatic, but the feeling of his friend spilling his personal information to other people at one of the lowest points in his life guts him.

"Louis!" Stan says frantically as he knows he's been caught, standing up to match his gaze. Louis wishes he had some clothes on right now.

"Why were you talking about me to Niall?" he asks almost defeatedly, feeling all of the effects of his terrible conditions crashing down on him at once.

"Louis, it's not what you think," Stan says while hanging up on the phone, giving him his full attention. "Niall was just checking in with me to see how you're doing since you won't answer your phone. He was worried."

Louis loves Niall, so much that he could squeeze him in a hug entirely too hard right now, but he's also Harry's best friend. If Niall knows how he's doing, then Harry will eventually know, and that's just not fair to him right now. He wants both of them to be in the dark if he has to be.

"You can't just- you can't just go and spill someone else's personal information to other people!" Louis counters, trying to ignore the tears falling from his eyes. He wishes Harry was here to hold him right now. That kind of thinking just causes him to wrap his arms around his bare torso instead.

"I-I know, I'm sorry Louis. It was wrong of me to just tell him everything, but he's worried," Stan apologizes, drawing a bit closer to Louis.

"Do you know who Niall is best friends with? Harry! He's probably worried too, and now Niall can tell him all about how I'm fucking falling apart without him while I just stay suffering and not knowing anything; it's not fair!" Louis' voice rises the more he speaks, his speech eventually choking up because of the tears falling from his eyes.

"I know, Louis, I should have thought about that. But- but the thing is, I'm worried too!" Stan admits as he runs a hand through his hair frustratedly. "I'm trying my best to be nice and accepting and to just be here for you, but it's so fucking hard when I see you falling apart and you can't even stand to tell me why you're crashing at my place!"

It's all too much, from overhearing Stan's phone call to staring him in the eye now as he exasperatedly tells Louis about how he sees that he's suffering. Louis doesn't want any of this; he just wants Harry right now. It makes sense to him how Harry's the one thing he can't have, though.

"Okay, you want me to spill my guts out to you? No problem!" Louis says with a sudden heat behind his voice, the aching of Harry's absence burning him to talk harsher and blurring his vision with tears. "Hmm, let's see, how about we start off with the fact that I don't think my supposed boyfriend has actually loved me in months? Or how about the fact that we only see each other when we fuck at night and then fall asleep on separate sides of the bed? Or maybe even the part where I can't remember the last time I laughed, like actually laughed, and same thing for Harry?"

Louis doesn't know what's happening, his words are flowing out of his mind and into the air faster than he can grasp them, and Stan just has to stand there and be at the receiving end of all of his shit. He's been keeping it in for so long and now he can't stop his mouth from running, no matter how mangled his words are turning out to be.

"B-being around Harry has become absolute torture to me which doesn't make any sense because I love him, I really do, but I just get so much anxiety when he's around because we're just not the same anymore, and I don't know what to do! I told him that we needed to take a break and that I'd come here for however long it took for me to figure out if we should still date but it's almost been two days and I haven't even been able to think a comprehensible thought yet because I always just feel so much pain and emptiness where Harry should be and I- I just don't know what to do anymore," Louis breaks off into sobs at the end, his chest feeling so heavy that he feels like he's about to collapse on the floor.

Suddenly, Stan is there at his side even though he didn't remember how he got so close through the sobs, and he holds Louis in a tight hug as he just continues crying, both not caring about the towel around his waist or how wet and cold he is. They stay there like that for a while, Louis finally letting himself really cry over Harry while Stan strokes his hair and tells him that it will be okay. It's definitely the most tender moment between them despite all of their years of friendship, but Louis indulges in the moment instead of overthinking it by holding Stan closer.

After what feels like hours of crying but is probably only around ten minutes, Louis pulls away from Stan, wiping his eyes.

"I-I'm sorry about that; I'm a mess," Louis mutters to himself as he wipes his eyes and readjusts his towel. "I know that I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, and you shouldn't have to hold me while I cry after yelling at you-"

"Louis, literally shut up," Stan cuts him off. "I spilled all of your personal information and then demanded to know why you were staying here like a prick instead of just asking you like a normal person. You had every right to yell at me."

"No, I should have given you more of an explanation since I barged in here looking like absolute shit and assuming free rent with no reason to you as to why. It shouldn't have taken a fight for me to yell at you the simple reason why I need to crash here for a while. Thank you Stan, and I'm sorry for being a prick," Louis apologizes, feeling the most clear-headed he has in the past couple of days, maybe even weeks.

"I guess we were both kind of pricks about it," Stan says light-heartedly with a smile. Louis chuckles and adds a simple "yeah" to agree.

"Here, let's have some lunch even though it's kind of late for that," Stan suggests, seeming relieved that the fight was over and that him and Louis were still on good terms.

"Yeah," Louis responds, only hesitating a bit after recounting how he threw up last night. His stomach is churning from the lack of food, though, and cigarettes can't hold him out forever. "Let me just get some clothes on."

"Haha, yeah; that's probably a good idea," Stan laughs in return, seeming to have forgotten about Louis' state of undress. "Do you want to go out or-?"

Stan left a question in the air, making the meal on Louis' terms, which he is very grateful for. Maybe baby steps like this is how he'll come to terms with whatever's happening between him and Harry.

He doesn't want to think about that right now, though, moving on, not when he finally feels somewhat good. So, he distracts himself with a new topic like he always does.

"Can we maybe order in?" Louis asks with a wince on his face, knowing that Stan would probably prefer to go outside of his house for once. He just can't handle daylight right now, though, so he hopes ordering in will be enough.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Sounds good to me!" Stan replies a bit too enthusiastically, and Louis can tell it's just his way of trying to make amends and be more accommodating. He's glad that he's his friend; he's not sure if he deserves him, though. "Chinese?"

"Yes, Chinese takeout sounds perfect right now," Louis laments with a tint of happiness in his voice, more than he's had in a while. He tries not to think about it as he gives Stan a small smile before shuffling away to put on some clothes finally.

After changing into his clothes, eating and talking with Stan over lunch, and going to take a considerably long nap, Louis finds himself on the balcony once again. The sun is going down now, the day drawing closer towards 7 p.m. The chilly air was picking up to be more of a biting cold as the sun left the sky, but Louis stayed out by the rail regardless of the fact that he was only wearing a short-sleeve shirt and sweatpants.

Today had been miles better than yesterday, considering that yesterday was easily one of the worst days of his life, but Louis still feels so painfully empty. He had finally gotten the weight of whatever was happening between him and Harry off of his chest when he admitted the situation to Stan, he had even been able to eat and keep it down, and he was able to laugh over lunch with Stan. He was doing better somehow, yet there is still a small, specific part of his heart that is burning physically. It's not like he's metaphorically mourning over the absence of Harry in his heart, he's literally feeling actual pain somehow because Harry isn't beside him right now.

He supposes that the feeling has always been there since he walked out of their apartment door with his box of miscellaneous things, but it's more prominent now than ever. And of course his stomach is still aching as if there were shards dug into it as well, but he thinks he's grown accustomed to that by now. When he decided to take a break from his and Harry's toxic relationship, he never even imagined being in this much physical pain simply from officially separating himself from Harry for a while. He didn't account for any of the things he's feeling right now, though.

He lights another cigarette, telling himself for the third time this afternoon that this would be his last one. He isn't really sure which one will be his last; maybe he just needs a constant in his life since everything with him and Harry is up in the air. There have been too many lasts and firsts in these past two days, so he sticks with smoking like he always has.

He had his first cigarette before he even knew Harry, back when he was fourteen and rebellious with his older friends to feel cool. He remembers how it stung that night in his friend's shed behind his house, how his friend laughed at him when he coughed and told him that he'd get used to the burn eventually. He remembers thinking that he could never see himself getting addicted to something as gross as cigarettes, no matter how cool they seemed to him back then for no reason other than action stars did it. The memory makes him smile spitefully at the dimming sky as he takes another drag.

He remembers when he first smoked in front of Harry. They had met in college, Harry being a film major and Louis being a theater major. Both of their plans didn't really map out correctly, but they didn't care as long as they had each other.

Louis pushes the now bitter thought away and tries to continue remembering when he first smoked in front of Harry, refusing to be sidetracked by sappy thoughts. It was their second date and they had gone to go see some dumb action movie that Louis now understands Harry was pretending to be interested in just to keep Louis' attention. Harry hates action movies, prefers romcoms, chick flicks, and even the abstract artsy kind of movies, but Louis loved movies with explosions and dumb one-liners before the hero inevitably saved the day.

They had first met because the theater department was collaborating with the film department for a unique project they hadn't done before. The theater listed their actors and technicians to work with students in the advanced film class to have groups create individual short films as a semester project, and it just so happened that Louis and Harry ended up on the same team. The short film wasn't half bad, being a deep and symbolic portrayal of being in the closet. It was very artsy and very Harry, and Louis found himself falling for the dorky boy with long hair wearing Chelsea boots ordering him around timidly to get just the right shot. After Louis worked up the courage to ask him out once they were told their film got an A-, it was history from there.

Louis remembers on that second date, though, the horrified look on Harry's face when he pulled out a cigarette and lighter after exiting the movie theater. Harry then went on to say everything Louis had already heard, from how it was killing him to how it was bad for the people around them and even the environment. He brushed him off at the time, but Harry made him stop once and for all when they moved in together after college a few years later. It was one of his top requirements, and Louis wasn't about to let a lame addiction stop him from living in the same apartment as Harry Styles, the boy he had grown to love more than he thought was possible.

Louis thinks this all over as he puffs out the smoke time after time, feeling his soul grading away a little bit more each time he brings the cigarette to his lips. He had quit for about up to the five years him and Harry had lived together, but he recently picked it up again around the same time he would wake up in the middle of the night to find Harry smoking alone on their balcony.

He didn't know Harry did that; he didn't even think he ever would smoke considering how his stance seemed to be on the matter. Louis threw all of that out the window that night, though. So now he's back to burning through a pack or two a week.

His stomach digs at him once again, the burning realizations of more firsts and lasts burrowing themselves into his insides. Louis feels sick, but he just ignores it by lighting another cigarette.

At least he wasn't drinking. Drinking made him loud, brash, illogical, and it often led to him making some dumb decisions. He couldn't take that right now; he had made enough dumb decisions sober already. Smoking seemed to sharpen his mind, though, while still distracting him from the things stressing him out. The burning he did learn to love helped him forget all of the shit pulling at him every which way. That's all he wanted right now.

It didn't seem to be working tonight, though, as it couldn't take his attention away from his burning pocket that undoubtedly had his phone in it. Every breath he took, the small pained point in his chest dug in even more, causing him to be breathless. That plus the churning of his gut and the prominence of his turned-off phone served to drive him crazy.

Though he had resolved his fight with Stan, he couldn't stop the lingering panic of Niall knowing the worst about him this very moment. He can't stop the background panic of Harry possibly knowing how shit he's doing without him while he's stuck worrying and wondering how Harry's doing, if he even cares about Louis anymore at this point.

It just doesn't feel fair to him, and the more he thinks about it, the more the phone burns through his jeans. Him and Harry should be on an equal playing field in such an uncharted time like this, Louis convinces himself.

While taking another drag, Louis takes his phone out and somehow brings himself to power it on. As the phone loads on, he tries to convince himself that this is for fairness and not the fact that he wants to hear Harry's voice. Because he doesn't, definitely does not want to hear Harry's voice. It's the last thing he wants right now, he tells himself, but he has to in order to make this aching fair.

The phone screen lightens up, a harsh contrast against the now-dark outdoors. Louis had hardly registered the darkening of the sky until now. It's fine, he's fine.

He has many new text messages and many missed phone calls as well, some from his friends, others from his family, a few from his coworkers, and then finally a shit ton from Harry. There weren't many texts from Harry, really, just a few messages sent in denial and repeating the fact that Louis was the one for him. They cut off by last night, though Louis isn't sure why.

The phone calls were a whole other story. They were probably around three times more than the text messages, if not four times. It causes Louis' gut to twist, but he ignores that before taking the last drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out in a makeshift ashtray Harry had jokingly made him when he went through his pottery phase. Louis feels sick.

Before he can even think about it, he hits the "call back" button on his phone while grasping the railing of the balcony. He can do this. It is strictly business, after all, only to make things fair between them. His eyes focus on the bar's distant glowing sign as the phone rings for what seems like minutes. Harry picks up after the fourth ring, much to Louis' surprise even though he called him. He supposes that he didn't actually intend on Harry answering.

"Hello?" Louis hears Harry's voice scratch out, causing him to wince at the sound. He sounds tired and possibly a bit drunk, like he just woke up from a nap or something. Louis tries not to think about how it's only half past six in the afternoon.

He doesn't know what to say, suddenly at a loss for words as his lips stay clamped shut as he stares out at the town before him. He wants to say something so badly, he just doesn't know what or how to say it.

"Lou?" Harry's voice scratches again, sounding more hurt than tired this time. Louis figures that he had just checked to see who was calling him since he just woke up most likely. Tears spring to his eyes at the nickname, but he refuses to let them fall.

"Harry." It's all Louis can think to say, his voice sounding clipped and albeit panicked. Talking with Harry used to be so natural, they've done it for years now, just talked, so why was it so hard now? Another shard digs into his gut after the two exchanged only three words between one another. Louis wonders how he won't be dead by the end of the conversation at this rate.

"Are you alright? I heard that-"

"So Niall told you?" Louis interrupts, finally getting ahold of his train of thought and what he wants to say. The line is silent for a few moments before Harry speaks up.

"He didn't tell me a lot, just-"

"Everything that Stan told him?" Louis interrupts once again, finding himself irritated by Harry's concerned and empathetic tone.

"Yeah," he replies simply, most likely understanding now that Louis called with an objective in mind.

"That wasn't- I'm not- you aren't supposed to know about how I'm doing," Louis stumbles to say, his mind racing over the thousands of thoughts raging in his mind. He hopes he doesn't sound too pathetic. His chest still aches.

"Why not? Louis, I'm practically pulling my hair out wondering what you're doing and you can't even manage to answer a text and because what? You're too busy getting into bar fights the day after you leave me?" Harry starts to fume over the phone, his apprehensive tone turning more and more enraged as he goes on.

"First of all," Louis fumes right back, ready to counter the fire Harry is giving him. This is what he's wanted since he presented taking a break: a fight. "I didn't leave you. You left me a long time ago mentally and emotionally way before I decided to leave physically. Second of all, I did not get into a bar fight, not that it's any of your business anyway."

"None of my business?" Harry bites back, anger now fully saturating his voice. It's rare for Harry's voice to morph that way since he's such a genuinely kind person all of the time, and it admittedly makes Louis shudder a bit. "You're my fucking boyfriend, Louis, of course it's my business if you're getting black eyes on your nights out and about."

"I'm not your boyfriend!" Louis yells suddenly, cutting off all sort of noise from Harry's side of the line. He feels gutted just from saying that, but he goes on to forget his crashing emotions. "We are taking a break, Harry, and we're supposed to be thinking of what we want next in life and what's gonna be the best for us. We are not supposed to be spying and obsessing over each other."

Louis feels a fire simmering in his lungs after spitting the last few words out, though he's not sure if it's from the heat of the conversation or the countless cigarettes he's had. Harry's line stays silent for a while, causing the tears in Louis' eyes to build back up as he holds his breath.

"Lou, why did you call me?" Harry finally asks in a defeated voice, shaking Louis to his core. The burning in his chest doubles as he keeps replaying Harry's broken and defeated few words in his head, not being to process why he called in the first place. Did he just call to fight and make Harry feel like shit? Did he call just to make himself feel like shit?

"I-I called because I want this to be fa-ir," Louis' voice broke off, suddenly betraying him as it cracks a bit. He tries to ignore it as he goes on. "And this isn't fair as long as you know what's going on with me but I don't know what's going on with you."

Another beat of silence causes Louis to tense in anticipation. His reason sounds so dumb now that it's out in the air and between him and Harry. He supposes that love is irrational, but isn't addiction the same way? He's not sure if he can tell the difference between his and Harry's relationship being one of love or one of routine anymore. The dilemma added with the silence over the phone only spurs on his sick feeling.

"You called to hear about how I'm doing?" Harry asks with no emotion behind his voice, scaring Louis far more than when he was genuinely angry.

"Well if you know how I'm doing, it's only fair-"

"That's a dumbass reason to call me, and you know it too," Harry cuts him off for once, scaring Louis to be quiet for the first time in their whole conversation. "But you want to know how I've been doing? Sure, I'll tell you since it's only fair. I'm falling apart without you, Lou. I can't seem to stay away from the alcohol or the ice cream when I think about you for some reason, and I can't tell when I'm crying or not anymore. I don't know what to tell my friends or my family because the other half of me is just fucking missing because he walked away and I don't know when he's gonna come back or if he's even ever gonna come back a-nd," Harry's voice finally dies off, his voice breaking at the end and causing Louis' gut to twist in the most painful way it ever has.

Louis can't seem to breathe even though he's surrounded by cold fresh air in the night on the balcony, and he just wishes he somehow had more space even though it seems like he has the whole sky right now. He wishes Harry was here and that he wasn't here at the same time. He wants to scream at him and hug him at the same time, kiss and push, hold and leave. All he can seem to do is just stand there, though, as Harry spills his guts to him over the phone.

"Louis, you're the one for me. I've known it ever since one of the first days I met you and you ran off from the set where we were shooting that short film to go help a child you heard crying in the distance. Ever since that day and even now seven years later, one of the only things I know is that you're the only one for me, that you're the one I love, the one I need to even fucking function. I love you, Louis, and I don't need some break to figure that out," Harry rambles, admitting things Louis already knew but now feel so new in the different situation. He's still not sure how to breathe properly.

"Harry, the thing is..." he pauses as he closes his eyes, finally letting his tears fall as he closes out the image of the night sky from his vision. "I'm not sure if I can believe you anymore. I just- I don't know anymore. Not after all of the time we spent convincing one another absentmindedly that we didn't love each other anymore. I- I just need some time to think, and I still think you do, too."

He can't take anymore, he simply can't or else he's sure he'll throw what he ate for lunch up, so he hangs up before Harry can utter a response. He tries to ignore the tears welling from his eyes by looking up to the sky, searching for any stars at all. He can only see the occasional flashing lights of an airplane in the sky, and he sighs deeply to himself.

He prays for mercy from his own feelings tonight, somehow sensing that it will be even worse than last night, minus the punch to the face. He just wishes that Harry would let him let go. He wishes his heart, his gut, his aching eye would let him let go. He never seems to get his wishes granted, though, and he supposes that it's what he deserves once again.

And it's no surprise to him later that night when he can't manage to hold his dinner down, throwing it all up in the toilet after he replayed Harry's broken voice in his head for the thousandth time that night. It's also no surprise to him either when he can't manage to fall asleep no matter how tired he is, so he stays up until sunrise once again writing all of his thoughts out into his journal while clutching onto Harry's shirt. He supposes that Stan is already becoming less surprised too when he wakes him up once again in the morning on the cold balcony.


	7. Chapter Seven

_I know my room is a mess_

_Over and over again I tell myself I'll clean tomorrow_

* * *

It's been a few days over a week since the phone call between Louis and Harry. Louis eventually returned to work and kept his routine of staying up till sunrise, only now hardly ever getting sleep.

He continued wondering about Harry just to snap himself out of it. Stan continued trying to cheer him up and even got him to go out for food a few times. He kept smoking an alarming amount and his stomach continued to gather shards no matter how good he was doing. He was always thinking about Harry in some way or another, he bitterly concluded on the third day after the phone call.

The only difference was that he was better at holding his food down now, but all of the shards collected in his gut often made him lack an appetite. He was getting skinnier and more bony by the day it seemed, and his bruised eye shifted through a multitude of colors Louis had not imagined could come from the human skin before.

His eye is a weird light green mixed with some yellow now as he walks through the door to Stan's apartment. He just finished his shift at the local business he works at, and he was thankful that it was a relatively uneventful work day because he felt utterly exhausted. He still feels exhausted as he walks to his room, loudly offering a "hello" to Stan wherever he is in the apartment.

It's a bit past 7 in the afternoon, and Louis feels his entire body sag against the door to his room when he shuts it behind him. He fell asleep around 6 in the morning and was awoken by Stan around 10:30 a.m. since his job started at 11. Louis was glad that his hours were more beneficial to him since it was a local business, but working on just a bit over 4 hours of sleep everyday was getting to him.

Crossing over heaps of clothes on the floor, Louis makes his way to his bed that he uses for staring off into space more than actually sleeping. The idea makes him smile to himself even though it's a sad thought.

Harry was always perplexed at how Louis' coping mechanism was often to find humor in the situation somehow. Harry was just so true to his feelings all of the time, whether he was telling Louis if he liked an outfit or not to dealing with a tragic event like losing his step dad. He just didn't understand how honesty and expression wasn't the way Louis got over upsetting events. It was even more confusing to him that Louis often recovered by laughing things off rather than facing them head on.

Louis wishes that he could find the humor in this situation now. Maybe that's why it's so hard for him to get over this.

With another shard digging into his gut because of that thought, Louis decides that he's simply too tired to think anymore, much less of Harry. He tries so hard to avoid the idea of him, but it only ends with him suddenly remembering three other stories about him and Harry.

Louis pushes his box full of only a few items now over before plummeting into the bed, his body already sinking into the sheets easily. Maybe sleeping in an actual bed instead of slumping against the glass slide door of the balcony on top of its cold tiles with only a blanket for warmth is actually better. Humoring his ideas, he snuggles under the almost stale sheets due to hardly ever being used.

Looking around his room from this perspective, he realizes how messy it is. Clothes are strewn about everywhere, Louis being too tired and lazy to hang them up, fold them into drawers, or even stuff them into the box he initially had them in. He tried to excuse his messiness by telling himself that he was making the room more "homey" to him, but he wasn't sure if that was true. There were bags of chips and empty cigarette boxes on the nightstand next to his head. Blankets and towels were also heaped on the floor in random spots, a result from Louis being too cold to being too hot in certain instances.

Louis knows that his room is a mess, and he feels awful that Stan has to see it every morning when he goes to wake him up on the balcony. The worst part is that he promises him every day that he'll pick it up, so he can imagine how disappointed and defeated Stan must feel every morning when he finds the mess to be even worse than yesterday.

Louis keeps on telling himself that he'll clean it up tomorrow when he has more energy, but that never happens. He always opts for staying up and writing his thoughts down into the early light of dawn every night, and he works until 7 p.m. every day.

Once again, he's compelled to clean the room to help ease Stan, possibly even help unclog his own mind, but his room remains a mess along with his mind. Harry was always the one who picked up after him most of the time. He also was the one that helped Louis clear his mind. He just doesn't know how to live without him yet, he supposes.

Louis turns away from looking at the messy room and opts to ignore it along with his thoughts about Harry with sleep. His chest feels constricted like something has wound his ribs tight together and won't let him have any room to breathe, but he just ignores it and tries to breathe deeply as his mind wonders off. His chest still aches in that one specific spot even a week and a half later, but it doesn't hurt as bad at some times. He ignores it like his tight chest and churning stomach and his dully aching eye.

He wakes up later to a pitch black room, the sun completely absent from the sky now. He reaches over to his phone to find the time 9:43 p.m. on it. Two and a half hours of extra sleep was good for him, so he feels accomplished as he sits up in the bed groggily. Without much thought, he reaches out for his phone.

After the infamous call he had with Harry, Louis turned off his phone for about one more day in an attempt to drown out real life and make himself feel better. He didn't feel better, though, and he also felt guilty for not even simply answering his friends' concerns. All he did was turn on his phone to rip himself from the inside out over a call with Harry and then turn it back off.

He supposes that's how he always lived his life, just centered around Harry, and he doesn't know what to do now that he's been abruptly ripped from the center of his world after years of just orbiting him blindly. If the sun was ripped from the middle of the solar system, the planets would be lost, wouldn't know where to go, and they'd fling off to the galaxy. Harry was always his sun, and now without him, he feels like he's been blindly flung out into the world, not knowing where to go.

That's besides the point, though. So a day after the disastrous call, Louis finally gave in and turned his phone on again and reassured all of his friends and even some of his family. He also used that time to contact his boss, confirming that he'd be ready for work the next day, figuring that three days off work with no explanation was more than enough time away. Of course he didn't feel ready to go back like he was fine and nothing was wrong, but he needed something other than smoking to help take his mind off of Harry, and he wanted to pay Stan back for taking him in and feeding him generously. So back to work it was.

Since then, he's been able to use his phone normally, even though the lack of notifications from Harry was concerning to him. His problem was that Harry hadn't even tried to contact him once since the call, which was even more concerning considering how much Harry had tried to contact him in the span of the two days he wasn't on his phone.

He ignores the lack of notifications from Harry now by focusing on his others, having a text from his sister Lottie and a few from Zayn, his childhood best friend that has been surprisingly distant during this weird period for Louis. After replying to a sweet message from Lottie, he focuses on the latest message from Zayn since all of the others were responses to what he'd previously texted.

Of course Zayn has messaged him over the course of the week and half away from Harry, but his messages are mainly complacent and not as curious as Louis anticipated from him. It's almost like he knew Louis needed someone talking to him about something other than Harry, and he was glad that he had that sense. Tonight's message, though, is a bit different than the usual "what'd you think about the game?"

"We should go out tonight; we could both use some fresh air," the message read, confusing Louis. He was usually the one to ever invite Zayn out, so he supposes that this prolonged break has finally gotten to him.

Louis misses Zayn a lot and wants to see him, but he can't help the feeling of apprehension lodged into his ribs at the thought of going out for the night considering what happened last time. His chest winds tight once again and his pained stomach becomes more noticeable to him.

"That sounds great, but we'll have to rain check going out for another night because work has me beat," Louis types out and sends, trying not to focus on the guilt lingering in him.

He knows that he hasn't been a good friend for any of his friends over this week and a half, brushing all of them off to focus on his own problems, but Zayn has probably gotten the brunt of it. They used to see each other every other night usually and most of the time they'd genuinely talk about how their lives were going and how they felt, but that's been cut off like everything else usual in Louis' life.

Not only has he cut off Zayn's most likely only sort of emotional outlet since he's so closed off with everyone else, but he knows that Zayn is hurt about how Louis never told him about what was going on between him and Harry. He doesn't want to see the pain in Zayn's eyes when he eventually asks about him and Harry because he just knows that he'll feel betrayed since Louis never opened up about how he felt in that department.

So, after blowing Zayn off for what felt like the first time ever, Louis lets out a big sigh before putting his phone down and rolling over on the bed, laying there motionless. He's been getting better, he knows he has since his chest isn't as tight and his stomach isn't aching as much and his eye barely hurts anymore, but it's hard to remember that as his heart rabbits in his chest for no reason.

At the beginning of their relationship, Harry had a pretty serious anxiety problem that Louis had not known much about until he saw how much it affected Harry in person. From then on, he researched it extensively and tried to memorize the best tactics and strategies to help Harry if he ever got an anxiety attack or just too anxious in certain situations, and gradually Harry's anxiety went away over a few years of Louis just supporting him the best he could alongside Harry’s medication.

He remembers how he'd use to have to hold Harry's shaking frame close and instruct him on how to breathe slowly, how Harry's hair smelled as he protectively tucked Harry's head into his chest no matter how much shorter he was than him. Louis wishes he had the same treatment now as he finds himself shaking helplessly as his breathing remains bordering on hyperventilating. Maybe thinking of how he doesn't have Harry to do the same for him right now isn't helping his cause of calming down.

Resorting to the one consistent stress reliever in his life, Louis thoughtlessly grabs his half-empty pack of cigarettes and lighter before trudging out into the cold air of the balcony. He blanks out the image of Harry smoking alone on their balcony in the middle of the night by lighting the lighter a bit too aggressively before bringing his cigarette to the flame and taking a long drag.

The night weather has been consistently chilly, with winter edging towards spring day by day. It wasn't enough to make it a pleasant warm temperature, but it did keep the blithering cold away. He wraps his arms around himself when he's not bringing the cigarette up to his mouth since he's only clad in a loose t-shirt and some old sweatpants.

After some time of staring out at the landscape that's become all too familiar to Louis, he feels a gentle rush of wind beside him. He hardly even has time to register the new distinct scent in the air until words fill the air.

"I knew you'd be like this," Zayn says beside him, leaning onto the banister and looking out into the landscape as well. He looks less like he's looking for something like Louis and more like he's trying to avoid eye contact.

"Like what?" Louis' creaky voice enters the air after a considerable pause of just standing next to one another, voice creaky since he hasn't used it in a few hours. He should have known that Zayn was going to come over to him once he turned him down; once Zayn wants to meet up with you, he's determined to. Louis's still not surprised by his unforeseen presence.

"I don't know... smoking, alone," Zayn replies with a slight somber tone in his voice as he continues to look out into the town. Louis lights up a spare cigarette and hands it to Zayn, knowing that he wants one instinctually.

"Yeah, I suppose that's all I am most days now," Louis tries to fill the silence, matching the somber tone around them but still with no emotion in his voice despite his tight chest and sore stomach. Zayn doesn't know much about how he's been throughout these days of his and Harry's break, being kind enough not to ask or prod. He doesn't even know about his black eye; hopefully he won't see it in the dark of the night.

Louis wonders in the silence between them if Harry has had a similar experience as him right now during their break, if he's just smoked silently with one of his friends on their balcony. He wonders if he's smoked at all during their time away, recalling how Harry admitted to drinking heavily because of Louis' absence. Harry's never really had an alcohol problem, though he has always had a tendency to get hammered more often than Louis, even on nights that they had agreed to be quiet ones.

He'd gotten better about excessive drinking the longer they were together, though, regulating it more and more until they hardly strayed away from drinking a healthy amount even on rambunctious nights. Louis feels so guilty and pained that this has driven Harry back to drinking, and he wishes that he could just be there to stop, help him, and hold him.

Another shard digs into his stomach when he thinks how he might not ever have the possibility of having a say in Harry's wellbeing again. Why does being around people make Louis tear in two more often than when he just isolates himself?

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Zayn finally asks, his saddened words breaking the silent air and Louis' destructive train of thought. Though it's not connected to any sort of dialogue, Louis already knows what he's asking about. He knew he'd want to know why Louis internalized the shit going on with Harry, that he'd figure it was his fault somehow. He doesn't have the strength to even check if Zayn is still looking out at the town or if he's looking at him now.

"I... I don't know. It's not your fault or anything, Z, you gotta know that... I guess it just happened so slowly to where it never felt important enough to talk about until it was too late," Louis lamely fumbles to the air more than to Zayn, admitting all of this being easier that way. He takes drags of his cigarette relentlessly until Zayn replies.

"What happened?" It's only two simple words, Zayn always being the more short-winded type, but they hit Louis hard. No one's really asked him, save for Stan inadvertently demanding him to tell him during their argument a while ago. This feels different now though, the possibility of not having to answer him making him want to cry for some reason. He takes another drag before he speaks.

"I... it's hard to explain, I guess; maybe that's why I've never wanted to talk about it," Louis absentmindedly supplies as he tries to think of the right way to put it into words. "I guess it's just that me and Harry started gradually getting more and more... distant, you know? It took me a while to notice it, but then more and more realizations kept dawning on me and adding up until it was undeniable. Like I first noticed how even though we had sex every night usually, we always ended up sleeping on the opposite sides of the bed. Then we kept having to cancel our date nights for work, and then we hardly ever saw one another in the day, and when we did, we hardly talked. And then I realized how little we said 'I love you' anymore, which is dumb but jarring to realize."

Louis pauses for a moment, trying to grasp onto all of his thoughts as his chest winds tighter and tighter and his stomach throbs with pain. The stinging feeling in his heart is back now too. Instead of giving feedback or saying anything, though, Zayn remains quiet and lets Louis continue. So he does.

"More and more often I kept waking up alone in the middle of the night just to see Harry smoking alone on the balcony; he's never smoked, always hated it. That realization scared me a lot. What really got to me was one day, one of his friends asked me what his favorite color was for his birthday gift that he was getting him, and I realized that I didn't even know it anymore. That's kind of when I realized that I was living more with a stranger than someone I knew and loved, you know?"

Silence stays in the air between them, and Louis doesn't feel quite ready yet for the conversation to fall flat, so he keeps rambling, trying to justify himself.

"It sounds dumb when I say it out loud, I know, but it was like I couldn't even be near him anymore without feeling the need to throw up from how anxious I was... That isn't love, it just isn't... So then all of the sudden I just knew that I had to take a break to sort things out, and that's where we are now."

Finally taking a full breath, Louis shifts his eyes over to Zayn as the air falls quiet for good now, wondering what his face looks like. Though he could appear to be cold at times, his brooding face often told many emotions for his different feelings, it just took a long time of Louis knowing him to recognize it. Right now he's looking down at the banister with a calculative expression, like he's trying to process all of this new information and sort it out properly.

Louis turns back out to the city landscape, trying to regulate his breath by taking another drag of his cigarette. It's almost out by now.

"What was Harry's reaction? You know, to the whole break thing?" Zayn finally asks, looking up to send a questioning glance Louis' way. Louis wasn't really prepared for this question even though it's a logical one to ask, probably because he hasn't really had the strength to think about Harry's reaction or his pained face since the incident happened. His stomach twists, and he feels it lurch at the memory.

"He... didn't agree. He kept on repeating how I was the only one for him, but..." Louis falls silent as his throat closes up, the tears building in his eyes.

"But what?" Zayn simply implores.

"But, it's like, he didn't even notice that anything was wro-ng!" Louis' voice breaks, betraying him as he tries to keep the tears from falling, not wanting to let Zayn see him like this. "For months I just noticed one thing after another about all that was wrong between us, and when I finally brought it up, he acted like he had no idea what I was talking about. I think that's the worst part about it... I think that's why I can't just let this break be over so quickly no matter how much he begs for it to be. I feel so cruel, but I need him to really think and understand all of the pain and concerns I was going through for months, you know?"

The air falls silent once again, only a few tears having made it down Louis' cheeks. He's fine, he's fine, and he tells himself so as he tries to subtly wipe his tears away as he brings his cigarette up for its last drag. He hopes that Zayn doesn't notice the way his cheeks glisten in the faint moonlight.

"I get it... I think you made the right decision," Zayn supplies simply after a few more drags from his cigarette, making Louis previously think that the silence between them was his answer.

To say that Louis is surprised would be an understatement, the way he freezes and turns to Zayn questioningly with widened eyes giving him away.

"You- you think I made the right decision? Why?" Louis asks dumbly, not quite sure what else to say. He was sure that Zayn was going to tell him how he was wrong and each individual thing that he could have done better because although Zayn is very supportive of him, it's just in his nature to constructively criticize, even if it's a bit brutal at times. Louis's still waiting for him to tell him how he should apologize to Harry this very moment or something like that.

"I think... I think that if something was troubling you that much and Harry didn't even notice, then there is a problem there, and you do need to do something about it. I would have probably suggested more important communication between the both of you and discussion of both of your thoughts and concerns so the whole situation would be completely understood by the both of you, but I do think you were right for taking a break. Something like that requires a shift in the relationship in order to solve it, you can't just brush it over. Especially after being together for seven years," Zayn says resolutely, finishing off his cigarette too. Surprisingly, neither him or Louis reach for a second one even though there are enough for both to have at least three each.

"You... you really think I'm in the right for my decision?" Louis asks as he grips the banister, his stomach twisting uncomfortably as everything starts to ache like it usually does when he thinks for too long nowadays. He just doesn't understand how Zayn is actually on his side with little to no criticisms. It's just unheard of, especially as his close friend.

"Yes, Lou. Why is that so hard to believe?" Louis can feel Zayn's eyes on him after he asks the question, but he refuses to meet his gaze as he feels himself burn all over. Tears are in his eyes again although he doesn't really know why, and he feels sick too.

"There- there is no way that I made the right decision when I just dropped Harry like that. That was the worst decision I've ever made-"

"No, Lou. You did the right thing. You may need to work on yourself too, but Harry really needs some time to self-reflect on his relationship with you," Zayn cuts him off, placing his hand over Louis' hand gripping the banister with a death-grip in order to relax his hold. Louis didn't even realize how hard he was holding on until then.

"How can it be the right decision when I feel so wrong?" Louis suddenly bursts out, stepping away from the banister and defeatedly looking Zayn in the eyes. More tears are making their way down his face and he's sure that his friend can see them now, but he can't bring himself to care, too distressed by the insistent twisting in his gut.

Zayn's looking back at him, but his concerned face tells Louis that he wants him to keep speaking. So he does. "E-Ever since I was stupid enough to bring up the whole situation to Harry and decided to take a break, I've been in, just, constant pain!" Louis exclaims exasperatedly, all of his inner turmoil surfacing just to hash it onto Zayn. "Every fucking thing makes me think of him, even dumb things that seem impossible to connect him to, and every dumb fucking memory just makes me hurt more because he's not here and I don't know if he'll ever be back and-" his voice cuts off for a second, too choked up, "and there is just no way in hell that making the right decision would me feel this shitty."

Zayn looks hurt now, gazing into Louis with such a strong force of sympathy that the other boy doesn't know what to do. Louis' throat has closed by now and many more tears have accompanied the others on his cheeks. He feels so cracked open and vulnerable, spilling all of this pathetic shit onto his best friend and letting him see his worst parts. He wants to take it back, but he's also too tired to ever want to have all of those concerns still lodged in his head, so he just turns back to the town's skyline when he can't take Zayn's pitying look anymore.

"You know," Zayn's voice enters the air somberly after a good amount of silence, Louis still somewhat sizzling from his admittance. "Sometimes making the right decision can make you feel like you have the worst outcome. But just know that what you're feeling now is somehow not as bad as how you would have felt if you kept going on like this for years. Right decisions can lead to eventual recovery, but wrong ones only lead to eventual destruction."

His last statement renders Louis silent, making him consider all of the possibilities of taking a break versus what all could have happened if he never spoke up. He thinks of all of the different ways each situation could lead to him being alone forever and destroyed emotionally, hardly seeing a good outcome to either one. He continues brewing like this for a while, standing silently next to Zayn in the chilly night air, until the other boy finally speaks again.

"You'll figure it out," he says cryptically, the statement seeming random but soothing Louis in a way that no one else could have. He turns to hug him, his shorter frame instinctually going up on his tiptoes in order to hook his chin over Zayn's shoulder. They stay like that for a moment, both cold boys holding onto each other, Louis admittedly sniffling a bit from crying earlier.

"I have to go now, but promise me that you won't smoke too many of these tonight, okay?" Zayn's says light-heartedly as he steps out of hug, keeping one of his hands on Louis' shoulder and the other shaking the pack of cigarettes teasingly. He's always been protective even though Louis has always known how to hold his own, and Zayn is aware of that fact as well. Louis's protective of him too, though, so he considers it a brotherly thing.

"Promise," Louis says with a crooked smile adorned on his face, somewhat forgetting how to do it properly. He wants to hug Zayn one more time, one more hug for the road, but he's already pushed him by basically yelling at him the whole time and never once asking about him. So, he decides to cut off his selfishness and lets Zayn go.

He clutches onto his returned pack of cigarettes as he watches Zayn leave the balcony, sending him a small smile to reassure him that it's fine that he goes. Louis really wishes that he had someone to be with him for one night, feeling so alone all of the time, but he supposes that his journal and Harry's shirt will have to be enough for now.


	8. Chapter Eight

_Just move the stuff up off the bed_

_And do what you came here to do_

* * *

Louis stayed out on the balcony for a while after Zayn left, just staring out at the town in the cold while he clutched onto his cigarette box, convincing himself that he didn't need another. He made a promise to Zayn to not smoke another one tonight, and even though he's craving another smoke already, he decides to hold to his word.

Louis couldn't find much else to do on the balcony now that he was left alone with his unrelenting thoughts and aching chest with no solace of a cigarette, so he wanders inside. Seeing Zayn tonight has reminded him of how lonely he is and how much he likes just having someone there to talk to, so he searches out for Stan, hoping to maybe eat dinner with him and catch a game on TV.

The house is dark now, only a few sparse lamps being on to somewhat illuminate the apartment. Louis continues his search for Stan over to his bedroom, assuming he's probably in there since every other place in the house appears to be vacant.

When he's about to open the door, though, he notices a small note on the coffee table of the living room. It flashes Louis back to how he left a note in a similar fashion for Harry when he finally left, but he diverts his attention from that memory by walking towards the note to read it.

"Went over to a dinner with some of my friends since you probably want some alone time with Zayn. I'm staying the night there, so I'll see you tomorrow afternoon - Stan :)," the message on the note reads in the dim light, causing Louis to pause there for a moment too long.

The one night he finally wants to be with someone, no one is around him. It makes sense to Louis that this is how it always turns out for him; he still feels like he deserves it. He supposes that maybe he truly is meant to be alone. Maybe even forever, considering how his break with Harry might turn out. He doesn't want to think about that now, though.

Hugging his own frame to make himself feel less alone, to feel like he's enough to hold himself together, Louis wanders into the kitchen for dinner. It's 10:16 p.m. now, so he figures he could use some food since he hasn't eaten since his brief lunch break at his job. It'd be the responsible thing to do: eat. His twisting stomach doesn't permit him to work up an appetite, though, even when he's looking over all of the good food Stan has in the fridge.

Louis used to get like this when his job stressed him out, especially when he first started out in his pursuit for a career in theater. It took him a little too late to realize that his degree in theater arts was useless in earning enough money to sustain him and Harry, so between taking up small jobs and helping out at the local theater, Louis was stretched thin. He was always so overworked and stressed that he hardly remembered to eat, and he hardly even wanted to since he always felt like he had something better to do.

Harry was the one who would, no matter how tired he was, make them both an amazing dinner and gently force Louis to actually eat food. Though he grumbled about having to eat more than thanking Harry for cooking and helping him, eating really did help him energy and health wise. Harry was just always there to make sure he didn't push himself too far in his worst times, and Louis did the same for him when Harry's pursuit in movie directing wasn't working out.

Their relationship was never just 50/50; sometimes it'd be 40/60, and other times it'd be 80/20. No matter their struggles, Louis and Harry always were there for one another; they were always each other's home. That's what got them through the tough times.

Louis wishes that Harry was here now to cook him a meal and force him to eat. He wishes Harry was here to talk and joke to, here to hold and kiss, here to love and rest with. And with a deep shard to his gut and a large simmering pain in his chest, Louis realizes that Harry isn't here to be that for him, and that he might never have him here to do it again.

Wanting to escape the feeling of being ripped apart once again, Louis flees the kitchen and back to his safe, messy space of his bedroom. He needs a cigarette to sedate his panic, he needs something to take this sharp aching away, but he promised Zayn that he wouldn't.

So he just stands in the middle of the mess of a room, not knowing what to do except ache. When every movement and every action reminds him of Harry and breaks him down to his core, why should he move anymore? Why should he continue to exist if it just keeps on bringing more and more pain?

He wishes desperately that Stan was just here to help him eat dinner and distract him from the aching throughout his body. It wouldn't be the same as Harry, but it'd be better than just suffering alone with no one to turn to. Louis needs someone; he hardly ever admits that to anyone since he's so fiercely independent, but now as he feels his chest burning and his stomach twisting and his mind aching, he can't deny it anymore.

Louis now moves to his phone, hoping that someone on his immediate contact list could possibly come over for just a while. His first instinct is to contact Niall, but considering his almost direct link to Harry, he opts that he should reach out to someone else.

After scanning his contacts for a considerable amount of time, his eyes fall on Liam's contact. Liam is just who needs right now, logical and resolute in his demeanor naturally while also being caring. Talking to him would give Louis the sense of security and clarity he needs right now while also being a good outlet for his emotions.

He hardly thinks twice before hitting the call button, holding the phone up to his ear as he waits for Liam to answer. After fives rings, an automated voice tells him that who he's calling isn't there and to leave a message. Cutting off the automated voice, Louis ends the call and then immediately calls Liam again. He needs to talk to someone now, and he needs someone like Liam; he just needs him to pick up for his sake.

After the fourth time his phone cuts to the automated voice, Louis lets out a frustrated sigh as he takes his ear away from the phone. He cuts the voice off once again, not feeling the need to leave a message. He wonders for a brief second if Harry would pick up if he called.

His stomach turns at the possibility of Harry not answering him, and he shoots up from his spot of sitting on the bed. Louis needs someone who will pick up, someone to talk to, someone to take his mind off of Harry.

Before he can even realize it, his mind flashes back to the crumpled piece of paper in a random drawer of the bathroom which has Marcus' number, the nice cashier from the night Louis got punched in the face. His stomach and chest burn immediately at the thought of the open-ended message on the back of the receipt, but he can't forget it now that he's remembered it's existence. He should have just thrown the paper away when he first found it, he knew he should have, but he didn't.

Gently bringing his hand to his still slightly-bruised eye, Louis wanders towards the door frame of the bathroom, feeling too intimidated to go inside and grab the piece of paper. The churning in his stomach and his stinging chest are telling him how this is a horrible idea, how Marcus is the last person Louis should call to have over to talk to.

But the burning in his chest takes him back to the late nights he found Harry smoking alone on the balcony, the lies and secrets filling the air so thickly that night that Louis felt like he could hardly breathe. The churning in his stomach takes him back to Harry's confusion when he brought up the problem of them drifting away, a shard digs deeper as he remembers the way Harry laughed at him when he first expressed his distress over their relationship.

As if his body is on auto-pilot, Louis steps through the threshold of the bathroom door and reaches for the crumpled receipt in the drawer he threw in there over a week and a half ago. He blots out his thoughts of Harry with each number given on the paper, typing it into his phone as he presses harder and harder on the screen. Louis really just wants to forget Harry, even if for one night. Maybe that will take his pain away.

The phone is ringing before Louis can even register, and it causes his breathing to pick up as he panics over what he's doing. He tries to calm himself down by convincing himself that Marcus might be busy tonight anyway, but his clutch on the phone only increases the longer it rings. Right when Louis expected the automated voice to come on, he rather hears a click and then the breathing of someone else on the line.

"Hello? Who is this?" Marcus questions from the other side of the line, his voice being familiar to him no matter how briefly they spoke a while ago.

Louis's not sure what to say, he's not even sure what exactly he wants from Marcus, so he stands in a dumb silence in the middle of the bathroom.

"Honestly, what kind of telemarketer calls at half past ten?" Marcus' voice sounds dismissive, assuming the unknown number as some shitty telemarketer, Louis concludes. It sounds like he's about to end the call, which is understandable since Louis hasn't done anything other than breathe.

"Wait!" he exclaims suddenly, rushing to say something to keep him on the line. "I-it's me. I mean, it's me Louis. We met at the convenience store a little over a week ago? I had the gross black eye."

His breathing is already too fast, his heart feeling like it's pounding entirely too hard for a simple conversation. With every beat, Louis feels his chest ache and pulse out the pain all throughout his body.

"Oh, I remember you," Marcus responds, possibly sounding fond, although Louis doesn't know him well enough to assume as much. It could be his hateful tone for all he knows. "You were quite the character, strolling in with a black eye like it was nothing and then buying a ton of junk food."

Marcus is laughing now, and Louis laughs lightly back even though it causes his stomach to cramp. He wishes he knew what he was doing.

"Sorry for assuming you were a telemarketer; you never know with all of these suspicious unknown numbers," Marcus continues on, sounding way too nice for a man Louis has hardly met. He knows that it's not what he deserves, but he can't help the small smile that builds on his face.

"No, no, you're totally fine. I just forgot what to say there for a second, so how could you have known any better?" Louis banters back, not quite sure where to direct the conversation. He feels like a war is waging inside of himself, but he can't stop himself from enjoying the conversation either. He's really just been so lonely lately.

"I guess you're right," Marcus muses, his line going quiet for a moment before speaking again. "So, why'd you call me Louis? Ready to cash in that promise I offered?"

Louis' eyes flash to the message scrawled out on the receipt saying, "If you want someone to take you out for a good night, call me. - Marcus." His throat closes and his stomach drops as he surveys the message over and over again, causing his side of the conversation to fall flat for a few moments too long.

"Yeah- yeah," Louis stammers out when he realizes that he's been quiet for a bit too long. "Well, sort of. I was possibly wondering if," he gulps, trying to clear his airways so he can breathe again, "if you wanted to maybe come over to my place to hang out?"

Louis' heart feels like it's about to seize with how many palpitations it's having, his stomach twisting uncomfortably once the question is out of his mouth. His knuckles turn white from gripping onto his phone so tightly.

"Oh, yeah, that sounds nice. Not the ideal night out, but maybe that's for the better considering how it went for you last time," Marcus responds, his tone soothing and a stark contrast from Louis' panicky one. He let out a chuckle that Louis tries to return, his train of thought moving too fast and his breaths too shallow to focus on anything happening in the conversation.

Once Marcus picks up that Louis isn't responding, he speaks to fill the space. "Send me the address and I'll see you soon?" He says it like a question, making Louis feel like he can say no if he wants. But he's the one who called Marcus and pulled on his leg, so of course he couldn't turn him down now. The sick feeling he had the night he got punched in the face is back.

"Y-Yeah; I'll just text it to you," he rushes to answer, trying to not leave any dead space in the call between them. "See you soon?" Louis says it like a question now, giving Marcus the opportunity to turn him down too. He's not sure if he wants him to turn him down or not, though.

"Yup, see you soon pretty boy," Marcus replies before ending the call, almost causing Louis' knees to give out. The sick feeling is back full force, making Louis glad that he's in the bathroom as he rushes over to the toilet. Nothing comes out, but he breathes heavily over the toilet until he's calmed enough to send Marcus the address to the apartment.

The thing is, he always used to call Harry pretty boy. From the first day Louis saw Harry with his adorable curls piled on top of his head and his bright smile, he couldn't help himself from teasingly calling the boy the fond nickname. Though he doesn't call him it much anymore, he'd occasionally throw the name around to get a rise out of Harry.

Harry was Louis' pretty boy, that's who he was, but now that he's gone and someone else is calling him pretty boy now, he doesn't know what to do or how to breathe once again. A huge shard dug into his stomach when Marcus first said it, and now he can't stop it from twisting around his guts uncomfortably as he thinks of all the ways he called Harry pretty boy. He wasn't ready for small things like dumb nicknames he had forgotten about to utterly gut him, yet here he was on the cold tiled floor of the bathroom hunched over the toilet.

He stays like that for a while, trying to recuperate all of the sudden memories, but he forces himself to rise off of the ground and straighten himself out in the mirror when he receives a text from Marcus stating that he was close. He's fine, this is fine, and he repeats that over and over to himself as he forces himself to smile before heading out to the living room, checking if anything is out of place.

After obsessively rearranging the pillows on the couch to distract himself from the burning in his chest and his raging mind, he finally hears three resolute knocks on the door, immediately increasing his heart rate. He continues to ignore the shards in his gut and his shaking hands by repeating the mantra of he's fine in his head over and over again as he walks up to the door.

Pausing at the door with his hand on the handle, Louis takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself with the way his lungs expand and inflate. It doesn't really work, but he doesn't have time to go through a full breathing session because Marcus is on the other side of the door.

With a white-knuckle grip once again, Louis turns the door handle and opens the front door, wishing one last time that Stan had just stayed home tonight.

Marcus is standing in the hallway of the apartment building, his hands sheepishly in his pockets and a small smile on his face. He's taller than Louis remembers, taller than even Harry, and his jawline seems even stronger in the dim light.

"Hi," Marcus simply says, his whole demeanor slightly recognizable to Louis. Maybe this wouldn't be as scary or as bad as he thought.

"Um, hello- hi," Louis stammers once again, his hand still clutching tightly onto the door handle. "Oh! Um, come in," he manages to get out while stepping to the side to let the other man in. Marcus smiles at his struggle to say a complete sentence as he walks inside.

Louis feels so wrong, with his stomach twisting more than ever before and his chest utterly burning, but he can't help the magnetism he feels from Marcus and wanting to talk to him. He closes the door behind him once Marcus walks in enough and then trails behind him towards the living room.

The apartment is extremely dim with only a few lamps on here and there, the same as how Louis found it when he went looking for Stan earlier. It dawns on Louis that Marcus is probably perceiving this as mood lighting, and he suddenly feels sick. He sits down on the couch wordlessly and twists his hands in his lap as Marcus surveys the area.

"So, do you play hard to get often?" Marcus asks with humor is his voice and a light in his eyes. The question makes Louis freeze, not really understanding it or the tone even.

"Sorry, what? Hard to get?" he echos back, feeling dumb under the attractive man's gaze. Marcus sits down a considerable distance away from Louis, most likely sensing his nervousness, but he angles his body towards him.

"Hard to get, you know, taking over a week to finally call my number. The longest anyone's taken to call me is about three days tops, so I assumed you were never gonna. It's nice to have some humbling, though, I can get a bit big-headed," Marcus chuckles, explaining his reasoning to him. Louis nervously laughs along at his joke, trying to play into the conversation and seem pleasant.

He's too aware of every minuscule thing in the room, from the way the ceiling fan's oscillating to the way the texture of the couch feels on his clammy skin. Louis's just now realizing that his trashy daily outfit of a oversized t-shirt with sweatpants might not be the best for the occasion.

"Oh, well um, I guess you could say that I only call when I think it's needed," he somehow manages to say without stuttering, although he doesn't make much sense to himself. It's like he's fuzzy and numb to the pain raging within him, making his own voice sound far off and not his own. He's fine, he is, and he continues to tell himself that.

"Oh really? Well, why was it deemed to be needed tonight, Louis?" Marcus asks, a glimmer in his eyes as his gentle smile projects directly towards Louis. He seems closer than before, though he doesn't remember him ever scooting closer to him. Louis' heart feels like it's beating out of his chest, but he grips onto the sides of his sweatpants to ignore it.

"I guess I was... lonely tonight," is all his brain supplies him to say, not remembering how to speak properly. He instantly realizes how what he just said could be taken in an entirely different sense, and his eyes widen as he grips harder onto his sweatpants, not correcting himself. He pushes his nauseous feeling down as he studies Marcus' demeanor.

"Well, good thing I gave you my number then," he replies, a smile still bright on his face. He's not even subtle now as he moves closer to Louis, their legs almost touching now. He moves his hand to brush a stray hair in Louis' face behind his ear, Louis somehow not flinching away from his touch.

"Yeah," he breathes out, not sure how to respond anymore or how he let him get this close. He really wanted Marcus over tonight just to have someone to talk to, he didn't plan for any of this. He feels his pulse in his hands and in his ear that Marcus' hand brushed against. He wishes Stan or Zayn could have just stayed.

But he thinks he subconsciously knew that things would turn out like this once he remembered the scrap of paper Marcus left for him, he must have from the way he instantly burned at the thought. He doesn't know why he called Marcus over tonight, but he also does.

He should get up and out of here, he should stand up abruptly like he does when he want to stop thinking about Harry and just demand for Marcus to leave. He doesn't owe anything to him, he's not obligated to anything with him just because he asked him to come over, but he still finds himself stuck in place.

He once again remembers the burning in his chest the night he saw Harry smoking alone on the balcony in the middle of the night, remembers the churning he felt when Harry laughed at him when he brought up his problems, remembers the way he threw up thinking about Harry the other night.

So, in favor of his mental stability, he simply stops thinking of him. He feels his pulse rabbiting in his chest and his mind racing in a way that it hasn't since Harry last said that he loved him, and it causes him to hold his breath.

He can't seem to manage to move away as Marcus leans in towards his face, his eyes set on his lips. With all of that in mind, he blots out his thoughts of Harry by closing his eyes as he leans in and finally receives the kiss, his heart racing, his stomach dropping, and his hands shaking at his sides. His mind keeps racing faster and faster, so he ignores it by pressing closer into their kiss.

Marcus brings a hand up to the side of Louis' face, gingerly stroking his angular cheek as they continue their kiss, his other hand eventually making its way to Louis' shoulder. Louis's taken back to the night when he told Harry they needed to take a break, the hand Harry kept on his shoulder despite the way he stepped away from the kiss. Louis pushes the memory away by bringing his own hand up to the side of Marcus' neck finally.

It's not like he's cheating on Harry, he tells himself. The whole point of the break was to think about their relationship and possibly see other people to discover if they truly were meant for one another. Louis keeps reassuring himself that this is fine, that this isn't cheating, as he opens his mouth to Marcus now, deepening the kiss as his body seems to malfunction.

It's like his chest is burning and the shards are digging into him, but he can't feel it as he numbs it with the contact between him and Marcus. The sudden intense amount of attention and contact given to him after over a week of nothing is dizzying to Louis, and he finds himself easing backwards without realizing it as he struggles not to think.

Marcus continues to hover over him throughout the kiss, following Louis' ease backwards until he's practically on top of him, framing him with his hands at both of his sides. Louis feels his face heating up at the position and the guilt he's pushing away in favor of continuing the kiss. He wraps his hands around Marcus' neck, loosely holding onto him. Just this once, he wonders what it'd feel like to be someone else's pretty boy.

With that thought, Louis pulls out of the kiss, breathing heavily. He's reeling from his influx of emotions and lust and pain and thoughts as he stares up at Marcus' face, which is staring down at him in a similar fashion.

"Do you want to take this to your bedroom?" Marcus asks, the words entering the air between them and feeling so big that Louis can hardly breathe. So much goes along with that simple phrase, so much that Louis's not sure if he is grasping it all right now. His hands are shaking and his thoughts are racing as fast as his pulse as he just stares up at the man above him. So much goes with that simple phrase, but Louis finds himself nodding regardless, too afraid of his voice coming out mangled since his throat feels closed.

With a warm smile, Marcus wordlessly gets up and helps Louis off of the couch. Remaining silent, Louis leads him down the hallway and into his room as the other man grasps onto his hand. Everything about this situation is wrong, Louis knows it, but he tells himself that this is moving on, that this is discovering the truth to his and Harry's relationship. So, he opens the door after a slight pause of hesitation and the two men walk into the room.

The room is still a mess like before, and that causes Louis' heart to lurch for some reason that's not even embarrassment. He looks up to Marcus, his face feeling abnormally warm for a reason he doesn't have enough mind to place right now. The other man smiles at him as they go to the bed.

"Oh, u-m, you can move that," Louis finally says, directing Marcus to move his big moving box off of the bed to make room for the both of them, his voice only breaking a bit.

"Alright," Marcus responds with a glint in his eyes, somehow not being awkward no matter how weird Louis is acting.

Seeing all of the clothes on his floor, Louis figures that the only items in the box are Harry's shirts and his journal that he writes in every night. So many thoughts all scribbled into one item, which is just so easily moved over and pushed to the side so Louis can share the bed with Marcus.

He feels sick once again, almost enough to throw up but not quite. It causes Louis to think of Harry again, the man he had tried to avoid thinking of desperately for the whole night. He thinks of his hair, his smile, his dimples, the way his hands felt, the years they spent together. It causes Louis to flush and become stock-still, confusing Marcus.

But soon enough, those memories and images were blotted out as Marcus brought Louis to the bed with him, kissing him once again. And as they made out on the bed with Marcus hovering over Louis once again, he wonders if this is what it was always going to take to forget Harry.


	9. Chapter Nine

_But first, open up a window for me_

_And let the cool air in, feel the night slip in_

_As it softly glides along your back_

* * *

Kissing Harry was always a simple thing for Louis. It was like no matter how fast his heart fluttered or how utterly enamored he was with the boy, kissing him always melted his surroundings away until it was just him and Harry and the air between them. It was like his mind gave up perceiving the universe he was in to fall into the universe of Harry, completely investing all of his senses to only acknowledge Harry from the moment their lips touched. That's how kissing Harry always was.

Louis had always assumed that's what kissing must have been since Harry was the first person he ever really kissed. Sure, he had a few pecks as a kid and a preteen, but he had never truly kissed someone until Harry came along and decided to sweep him off of his feet with his curly hair and deep dimples.

Kissing Marcus now, though, Louis finally understands that kissing isn't the same as kissing Harry. Kissing becomes an entirely different thing when he does it with Harry, the world fading around him to enhance the boy in front of him. As he makes out with Marcus on the bed, however, the world becomes startlingly more noticeable the more he tries to lose himself in the kiss.

Bringing his arms up around the man's neck like before, he tries to make this feel right, he tries to make the world fade away and his heart flutter like it always did with Harry. It doesn't work though, making him even more aware of his surroundings from the hum of the air conditioner in the distance to the way the covers of the bed rubs against the bare skin of his ankles. It makes his heart rate pick up but in a stinging way rather than a fluttering way.

Louis can feel himself becoming too warm as the kiss goes on and the shards dig deeper and deeper into his guts, overheating him to the point where he has to break away.

"I'm overheated," Louis breathes out, keeping his hands hooked around Marcus' neck since he doesn't know what else to do with them.

"Really?" Marcus questions with a glint somehow in his eyes despite the dark room. A smile spreads across his face before speaking again. "Maybe taking your clothes off would help with that overheating problem."

Louis freezes once again, probably accidentally gripping the back of Marcus' neck too firmly. He knows that Marcus is just being charming and witty, it's clear to him that this is obviously flirting given their situation, but the situation hasn't become quite as clear to him until now. They were really going down this route.

Like earlier, he must have known that this was going to happen when he led Marcus to his bedroom. That was no mystery to him, but now that it's come time to do it, the situation is sinking in in an entirely different way. Louis finds himself blankly staring up at Marcus as his head throbs and his heart pounds in his ears.

This isn't cheating; he's already established that to himself when they first kissed, but that claim kept feeling weaker and weaker as things went on and the more he kept thinking of Harry during this. His skin is burning, his head is pounding, and the more he tries to think this over while looking up at Marcus, the more fuzzy his vision becomes.

So with no more thought, Louis wordlessly nods his head and goes to sit up to take his shirt off in a desperate attempt to stop his overheating, to stop thinking about Harry.

As Louis brings his hands down to tug his shirt over his head, though, Marcus stops him and looks sincerely into his eyes. "Are you sure you want to do this? You look uncertain. We don't have to if you don't want to."

Marcus is being incredibly kind and understanding even though he has no grasp of Louis' situation, and he's giving Louis time to think about his decision, which is more than what most men would do.

But Louis doesn't want to think anymore, he doesn't want to focus on how alone he is, on how Harry doesn't feel like his boy anymore, on the sick feeling in his stomach, on his overheated skin or his pounding head. He's doing this because he doesn't want to think about all of this shit going on in his life right now.

So, he shakes his head no over and over again as he tugs his shirt off, revealing more tattoos to Marcus that he doesn't want to think about either. "No, no; I want to do this," he reassures him after he peels his shirt off.

He pulls at the hem of Marcus' shirt, urging him to do the same and undress, and once he gets the message, he proceeds to pull his sweatpants off until he's only left in his boxers. Noticing Louis' increase in speed of undressing, Marcus struggles to keep up, tugging his tight jeans off from his legs before returning to being above Louis again.

"See?" he says although he was caught off guard by Louis' sudden actions just moments earlier. "I told you getting your clothes off would help you not overheat."

The problem is that he's wrong; Louis' skin is still burning for some reason as he now lays hardly dressed under the darker muscular man. He doesn't have any time to correct him, though, as Marcus dives back into the kiss with more passion than before, one of his hands now resting on Louis' bare side as his thumb rubs over his ribs.

Louis tries to return the enthusiasm of the kiss, wrapping his arms around his bare back now rather than his neck, tracing his nails up and down the expanse of it to illicit a groan out of the other man. Soon enough, their hips start to move together, Louis trying to follow Marcus' lead. He feels like his lungs are being crushed, but he ignores the feeling by digging his nails deeper into Marcus' back, causing the other man to bite his bottom lip in response.

For some reason, this feels like Louis' first time no matter how many times he's actually done it with Harry. This seems like new territory, causing him to be tentative and unsure despite his experience. Marcus starts trailing his hand down from Louis' ribbed side to the waistband of his underwear, and his skins burns in wake of where his hand travels. Right as Marcus' hand is about to delve under the band, Louis gives into the stabbing in his gut and pulls away.

"What is it? Do you want to stop?" Marcus immediately asks, raising himself off of Louis to analyze his face and see his reaction. Louis's glad that he somehow found the sweetest hookup of all time; it makes this a lot more bearable for him.

"N-no, I'm just still really hot," Louis admits, not being able to handle the sweat already trailing down his body. "Do you think that you could maybe open the balcony door a bit? Just to let some cool air in?"

Marcus looks down at him with a confused look in his eyes before responding. "Yeah, yeah, sure. You must run hot because it's a bit cool in here already," he comments, bringing himself off of Louis in order to go open up the balcony door a sliver.

Louis doesn't run hot is the thing. During the cold weather, it was an unsaid rule for Harry to bring an extra jacket if he didn't want to give his own up because Louis always ended up shivering. Harry would try to make him wear a jacket out, but he always refused by saying that the weather was fine.

So Louis doesn't run hot, but right now his skin feels like it's burning as he's laying in the bed, fidgeting with the sheets and his surroundings in order to take his mind off of it, off of what he's about to do. He's burning from the guilt, burning from how overwhelming this is, burning with loss, burning with pain; he's burning from so much and he's just hoping that some cool air will resolve all of the problems waging inside of him.

Before he can think over it much more, Marcus is back with his cool skin and gentle smile, getting back into the bed with Louis. They continued to kiss, Louis thinking more about the proper way to kiss someone than what else was going on for the first time in his life. The kissing continued until both men were out of their underwear and progressed more, both of their groans filling the air.

While the other man rhythmically pushed into him, though, Louis found himself calming his breathing by focusing on the cool air caressing his bare calves. Holding onto the broader man, Louis found his mind wandering away from what was currently happening, thinking over how every push made the shards in his stomach push in deeper to his guts as well to thinking of Harry's broad shoulders. Though he was supposed to be coming undone by Marcus, Louis found himself falling apart an entirely different way, his head throbbing and his breathing choked with every push as he couldn't stop thinking of Harry.

Marcus talked to him mindlessly as it went on, mumbling random phrases from how hot Louis was to how he was perfect for him. Louis tried to cut off his claims by tugging on his hair, not being able to hear stranger's voice ramble to him how he was perfect for him when he was offering the most vulnerable part of himself.

Louis was startlingly silent as it went on, only letting out a few huffs or a sparse groan every now and then. He was too focused on his breathing to lose himself in the moment. He was too afraid of Harry's name instinctually falling out of his lips to ever open his mouth. So he just encouraged Marcus through tugs to the hair or dragging his nails down his back particularly hard.

It ended soon enough, making Louis feel relieved in a way he hadn't felt before as Marcus finally fell from on top of him to his side. Louis had given him his consent, he had wanted it to happen, and it felt consensual too, but it also felt purely out of necessity. None of it was done out of love or true passion, just off of Louis' necessity of needing to get Harry off of his mind and off of Marcus' need to get off.

Louis bitterly thought over how it did the exact opposite of what he wanted, making him think of Harry more than he usually did. Envisioning Marcus as Harry is what made him finish in the end, not being able to find any other way to get off. It was twisted and messed up, and it made Louis feel weaker and sicker than before.

As Louis laid in bed with Marcus sleepily holding him from behind, he wished that he never thought of that damned piece of crumpled paper in the random bathroom drawer. He'd much rather sleep on opposite sides of the bed with Harry than be cuddled by a near stranger, yet he found himself stuck in the latter situation. And as he feels Marcus' drawn out breath hit the back of his neck as the man slept, Louis wonders if he'll ever be able to stop thinking about Harry.


	10. Chapter Ten

_And I hope you leave right before the sun comes up_

_So I can watch it alone_

Ever since the first time he and Louis had slept in the same bed together, Harry had always made it clear to him that he liked to be cuddled. Being the little spoon despite his large size was just another thing Louis easily fell in love with along all of the other adorable quirks Harry had. Louis didn't realize how much he liked being the big spoon until he slept with Harry, finally having someone he cared enough to protect in that way.

Even if there was any question if he liked being the little spoon, Louis knew the answer to it now. He does not like being the little spoon, not at all.

Louis hates being coddled, being cramped, being held back, and that is all what being the little spoon entailed for him. He hates Marcus' warm breath on his neck, he hates how they are both still messy from before because Marcus trapped him in a cuddle before he could get up and suggest cleaning themselves off, and he hates not being able to stretch out his legs. It's an awful experience, and it just makes him think of how much he misses Harry more.

Louis waits until the breathing against his neck has steadied and then waits an extra five minutes just to make sure that Marcus is actually asleep. Once he's sure the other man is unconscious, he quietly slips out from his hold and puts a pillow in his place as to not wake him. Louis would smile at his Indiana Jones-esc maneuver he used to escape Marcus' hold, but he's too lost and sad to even manage a smile as he looks over the other man to make sure he's still asleep.

After ensuring that he didn't disturb Marcus' rest, Louis makes his way to the bathroom. He feels utterly filthy, not being able to get what he just did out of his head. He can't even manage to assess himself in the mirror before turning on the shower water, jacking it to the hottest mode. He makes sure to lock the door as he waits for the water to warm up, staring at the wall blankly in order to avoid looking at himself in this state.

His sides hurt from Marcus' grip, probably leaving indentions or faint bruises along the lines of his ribs. His back aches from being angled upward for so long along with his ass, causing him to walk with a slight and uncomfortable waddle. His head is still pounding, his heart burns, and his stomach feels like a pulsing mass of pain as he just stands there all alone in the bathroom in the middle of the night. His eye also must still look awful along with how he's entirely too skinny, so he imagines himself to look like an utterly pathetic mess. He doesn't need to look at himself to confirm that, though, and he rushes into the shower once he sees that the mirror has fogged up.

Louis has only been taking cold showers for the past week because that is what he liked before Harry ever came along, and it felt nice to recognize parts of himself that he had before he changed to attune to Harry. But now as Louis feels nauseous and on the brink of tears as he holds his arms over his bruised sides, and he just wants to have something somewhat recognizable calm him, to feel closer to Harry somehow. So he stands under the shower's burning hot water and he just cries, thinking over all of his pain and Harry and how those two things seemed to be so hand-in-hand nowadays.

Louis feels gross. He feels disgusting because of what he just did with Marcus, and he just wants to scrub every last thing he did off of his body to be washed down the drain forever. No matter how much he scrubs at his sides though, the bruises don't go away. No matter how much he scrubs his scalp, his headache won't go away. No matter how much he scrubs, all of his pain is still there and he can't stop the tears from falling as he just scrubs harder and harder, helplessly hoping that it'll make a difference.

Soon enough, though, the water becomes too scalding to his skin and he realizes that scrubbing is getting him nowhere. So after a good few minutes more of crying under the hot spray of the shower, Louis shuts the water off and lets the liquid just drip off of him as he tries not to think about all of the times he showered with Harry.

He stands there, wrestling with his thoughts for a while, until the water dripping off of him turns cold and he needs to dry off. Thanking the hot water for the mirror still being fogged up, Louis quickly puts his clothes on after drying off without much worry, starting to feel numb to the contempt he feels for himself.

Still feeling cold and lost, Louis slips back into bed with Marcus, hoping that his warmth will warm and ground him in some way. Maybe he can convince himself that this is for the best, that this what he wants if he just accepts the arms wrapped around him and the offered warmth. Maybe he can finally stop thinking of Harry if he just wraps his mind with thoughts of another man.

Louis looks at the clock to find it at 2:07 a.m., causing him to feel restless for some reason. Like earlier, he doesn't want to think anymore. He just wants to fall into blissful unconsciousness where he doesn't have to think about Harry, the arms wrapped around him, or anything in between.

He tries everything, from holding onto Marcus' arms around him, to turning around to rest on Marcus' chest, and even to staring at the wall as he made his body go limp. Nothing worked though, Louis still ending up wide awake and craving a cigarette no matter how much he told himself that he didn't need it.

Every time his eyes would lull closed, a shard would dig in about how Harry wasn't the one holding him. Every time he felt himself on the brink of sleep, his heart would start to burn because Marcus smelled so differently than Harry. Louis started to wonder if he'd always subconsciously compare every man he would be with to Harry in every way possible.

The longer he stays stuck in the other man's arms, the sicker he feels. Louis wishes that Marcus would just act like a casual one night stand, just leaving once the sex was over. It'd make things a lot easier.

But then again, Louis supposes that he deserves this pain and guilt. He deserves to not be able to fall asleep due to feeling like he's being ripped apart because he just slept with another man. He can't just do that and act like he deserves to feel fine again. No matter where his relationship is with Harry, he knows that wouldn't be fair.

By the time 5:02 a.m. rolls around and he's still awake, Louis decides that he can't handle the sick and aching feeling in his stomach anymore. Marcus is holding onto his sides right where the bruises are, outlining Louis' biggest regret with a simple grasp, and he just needs to get away. As he tries to slip away, he holds harder onto his sides before finally letting go, causing Louis to let out a muffled sound as he tries not to cry from the slight pain. Without thinking, he gives him another pillow to hold before he walks through all of the clothes on his floor over to his box that Marcus previously moved over.

Grabbing a sweatshirt off of the floor and slipping it over his t-shirt that he previously put on because he didn't feel comfortable with being undressed around Marcus for any longer, Louis reaches the box as he fumbles quietly around the dark room. Trying not to think because it only hurts him more, he routinely grabs one of Harry's shirts and his journal before heading out to the balcony.

The only good thing about him being overheated earlier is that the balcony door is already slightly opened, so he doesn't make too much noise as he slips out into the cold air. Louis grabbed his pack of cigarettes before heading out too, not being able to resist any longer. He stares at the lighter for a pregnant moment before sparking it to life and bringing a cigarette to it, apologizing to Zayn in his head for breaking his promise. Every day it seemed he was becoming less and less reliable.

All Louis wants to do is watch the sunrise alone. He remembers how towards the middle of their relationship, Louis and Harry had a silly debate over whether sunrises or sunsets were better. Louis thought sunsets were better because they were prettier and it was a perfect way to end the day with all of the pretty pinks and oranges painting the sky. Harry thought sunrises were better because of what they represented, the pleasant beginning of a new day, a pretty and new opportunity to live better than yesterday. Harry was always the more poetic one out of the two, Louis supposes.

The argument turned pretty serious after a while though, somehow being incorporated to their everyday conversations. Harry even jokingly whispered how sunrises were better in Louis' ear during sex, which is what spurred the both of them to finally decide that they needed to reach a conclusion. They ended up deciding that they were both going to stay up twenty-four hours straight together in order to see in one day if sunsets or sunrises were truly better.

They waited until their next day off, and then both boys decided to hold each other accountable for staying up a whole day by spending it together. Even though it was a competition, they turned it into a date, going out to the town and visiting shops as well as eating out all day. They were having dinner at a local pasta place when the time for the sunset finally came, deciding to eat outside to get the full experience.

Though the sunset was somewhat cut off due to the surrounding buildings, it was still beautiful, the sky blazing from red to orange to pink as light shades of purples and blues mixed in the clouds. It was almost like a painting with how beautiful it was, and Louis went on and on about how great it looked while Hardy tried to remain unimpressed although he took countless pictures of it, half of them consisting of Louis photobombing and goofing off with their complimentary breadsticks.

Considering that they still had a lot of time to kill, they stayed out till late, getting ice cream cones and walking and talking as they made their way around the town until they had to hurriedly lick the cones once they realized that the ice cream was dripping. Louis remembers it as one of the nights that he laughed the most.

They returned home around midnight, both of them being tired from walking around for most of the day and then stuffing themselves with pasta and ice cream. They held each other accountable, though, and forced each other to stay up from playing board games, watching action-filled TV shows, and then coming up with their own games to play when they got bored of the board games.

Harry was too determined to win their silly fight, and as the hour turned to five in the morning, he made the both of them build a makeshift pillow fort out on their balcony for the best experience possible for the sunrise. Louis suggested putting up fairy lights, saying how Harry would like it but secretly suggesting it because he personally loved how they looked. Harry refused the idea, though, saying how artificial light would ruin the experience.

They teasingly bickered as they continued to build the pillow fort, and it was just nearing six when they finished and bundled in it together. Laying on their stomachs towards the railing of the balcony like two little kids, they both sleepily watched the sky shift from a dark blue to a gradient of lighter blues silently. Soon enough, the sky seemed doused in a light pink as they saw the sun poke over the skyline, highlighting all of the buildings and their surroundings to be golden in slants.

It was gentler than a sunset, with less brash colors and more softer ones, but it seemed perfect for Harry to Louis.

"That's it, Harry," Louis mumbled sleepily as he overlooked the golden town from their balcony fort.

"What's what?" he questioned, sleep heavy in voice too. Louis smiled to himself as he finally turned his head from the sky to Harry's sleepy face.

"You're like the sunrise; you're gentle despite how great you are and you turn everything you interact with golden." It didn't make much sense coming out of his mouth, but it made sense to his tired mind as he smiled at Harry.

Tearing up, Harry smiled back at Louis. "And you're like the sunset, graceful and beautiful no matter how bold and brash you tend to be, and you have your softer sides that you can only see if you look hard enough. And you're the perfect end to my day," Harry mumbled, the unaltered fondness on his face almost making Louis shy.

"And you're the perfect beginning to my day," Louis finished, bringing his hand up to Harry's face to brush his hair behind his ear.

"You know what? I think I officially like sunsets the most now," Harry admitted with a sleepy smile as he tried not to nod off.

"As much as I'd like to take this moment and rub it in your face how I'm right and you're wrong, I have to say that I officially like sunrises the most now," Louis gushed, allowing himself to be sappy just this once. He blamed it on his state of unrest, but that was just how Harry made him: all warm and mushy and sappy. And right before both of the boys both fell asleep out on their balcony in a little pillow fort at the very beginning of the day, Louis kissed Harry softly and then rested his head to stare at him as he nodded off to sleep.

Louis thinks about that now as he's sits on the cold tile floor of Stan's balcony, no fort or blanket or anything to warm him save for Harry's t-shirt that he stole. He tries to sniff it to bring himself some sense of warmth or familiarity, to convince himself that right now isn't all too different from that date he just remembered, but Harry's fading scent only makes Louis' gut lurch more as his heart burns.

He feels so cold as he brings the cigarette up to his mouth, thinking about how Harry would hate to kiss him now since he tasted of nicotine. Louis wishes that sunrises weren't still his favorite after all of this time, wishes that they didn't still remind him of Harry. Maybe then he would actually get rest instead of staying up every night in hopes of seeing him in the skyline again. As Louis sits all alone, cold, and aching on the balcony floor, smoking and sniffing Harry's fading scent to feel some kind of warmth like he used to feel, he wishes that he wasn't cursed with seeing Harry in the way the sun rises for what was most likely the rest of his life.


	11. Chapter Eleven

_Fluorescent store lights, you shine through the night_

_Illuminate my pores and tear me apart_

* * *

Shortly after Louis falls asleep on the cold balcony yet again, the sparse clouds collect quickly in the early morning sky. Unfortunately, the clouds started to drizzle, but then broke out into full-on pouring right as Louis' tired eyes blinked open. The cold water raining on him woke him up quickly despite his lack of sleep, and he huddled his journal and Harry's shirt to his chest to protect them from the rain as he rushed inside.

Now that Louis is standing in his room dripping wet after being shocked awake, he remembers that there is a stranger still huddled in his bed cuddling a pillow. The water dripping down his sides reminds him of his bruises and how he aches all over his body, wincing as he pushes the balcony door closed quietly as to not wake Marcus. The last thing he needs to do is look like a wet dog in front of the man he just slept with.

Earlier in their relationship, while they were still young and broke in college, Louis remembers how him and Harry got caught in the rain often since they didn't have cars to transport them anywhere. If they wanted to go on a date, they either had to hail a taxi, ride the bus, or walk there, and since their part-time jobs didn't pay well, they opted for walking most of the time.

When they used to get caught in the rain, Harry would always try his best to act as a chivalrous gentleman by shielding Louis from the rain with his coat or by huddling him closer, and it always made Louis just as hopelessly endeared as it made him mad. He wanted to bring just as much to the relationship as Harry, not to just be a useless person for Harry to love and take care of.

So then it became an unsaid sort of competition between the boys, each of them trying to be kinder and more chivalrous than the other from offering each other their coats to both of them bringing umbrellas to give to each other. This continued on for months despite how ridiculous it was, both of them silently trying to top one another in how nice they were.

It wasn't until Louis was almost hit by a car because he was being a dumbass and tried to lay his jacket on a puddle for Harry to walk over at a crosswalk that they finally decided to stop with their petty competition. Though both of them were spooked in the moment, they laughed about both of their faces and the entire competition later that night when they were eating takeout in Harry's dorm room.

Louis wishes that he was laughing about how he looks like a wet dog right now with Harry with some takeout food, but he's just standing alone soaking and cold in a messy room that isn't his with a stranger sleeping in the bed. There was nothing funny about this situation to him, and it made Louis grit his teeth in shame.

After standing there for a while dripping wet, he jolts back to his current situation as a shiver runs up his spine. He puts away his journal that was surprisingly dry and Harry's partially wet shirt into his moving box before plucking a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt off of the messy floor to change into. Louis quietly pads off into the bathroom with his mismatched outfit, silently shutting the door before turning to the mirror.

He looks awful; his hair is soaked and sticks to his hollow face with his sunken eyes and cheekbones that are still too angular. His eye is still slightly bruised, now a more orangish-green color in a few spots. His wet clothes cling to him as well, revealing how skinny he has become over this break of hardly eating and smoking entirely too much.

He has to turn away to strip off the wet clothes and put on the dry ones, not wanting to see his bruises or his ribs that most likely stick out from his skin. He doesn't want to look at his tattoos to be reminded even more of Harry, so he doesn't. He quickly puts on the new clothes and sets the wet ones to dry in the bathtub before exiting the bathroom, ignoring the anxious feeling in his chest or the shards digging into his gut.

Closing the door quietly behind him again, Louis' eyes fall onto Marcus who is still asleep in his bed. He looks calm and rested, the opposite of how Louis feels. His eyes stray away from the sight to find the clock at 8:56 a.m. So he hardly got three hours of sleep, great. He tells himself that he's fine as he shakes out his hair, trying to dry it a bit but feeling disoriented and lightheaded afterwards.

His stomach rumbles loudly then, being hungry after not eating dinner last night in favor of calling Marcus over. It just makes him more mad at himself. He decides to make him and Marcus some breakfast since he doesn't want him waking up to be an entirely awkward experience. Louis just wishes again that Marcus would have left in the middle of the night after they were done like a casual one night stand, but of course he didn't. Louis worries for a moment that maybe it was more than that to Marcus, but he forces the thought out of his head quickly in favor of being somewhat productive.

Casting one final calculative glance at the other man, Louis exits the room as quietly as possible, dodging all of his clothes scattering the floor in order to reach the door and walk down the hallway to the kitchen. Stan said he was going to be back around noon on his note, so he had to find a way to make both him and Marcus breakfast and then have him leave before then. Okay, he can do that, and he tells himself that before he starts.

Louis figures that a simple breakfast of a bacon, egg, and biscuit sandwich will be the easiest and quickest thing to make considering the food they have, so he starts by buttering a pan and laying the bacon on after he took it out of the fridge. Letting that cook, he grabs a few frozen biscuits and puts them into the toaster oven to unfreeze and heat up enough.

Soon enough, Louis flips the bacon over and gets started on the eggs, not having much energy to do anything more than scrambled. Surprisingly, cooking puts all of Louis' internally troubled thoughts on the back burner as he focuses on completing simple tasks as buttering a pan to scrambling eggs. Cooking casts all of Louis' worries away for him to focus solely on getting the food right, so he finds his soul at rest as he mindlessly flips the bacon and collects the biscuits onto two plates.

He doesn't even notice Marcus when he walks into the room and sits down at the dining table right next to the kitchen silently. When he's cooking, all of his thoughts about what's wrong between him and Harry, his thoughts about Marcus and what he did with him, his thoughts about all of his past memories with Harry, and everything in between is muted and it finally allows Louis to breathe. He almost finds himself saddened when his thoughts start to creep in again once he finally finishes fixing up breakfast.

"Did you make us breakfast? You're definitely the best lay I've had in a while," a voice, Marcus' voice, finally fills the air and causes Louis to jump a little as he's taken back to reality fully. He turns to the man at the dining table, not recalling how he got in there but not taking too long to question it.

"I-I thought you might like a breakfast sandwich or two. Unless you're vegan! Sorry, I didn't even think about that, oh no I'm-"

"I'm not vegan; you're totally fine," Marcus cuts his rambling off, laughing at Louis' concerned nature. Relaxing only the littlest bit, Louis gives him a small smile before grabbing the two plates and bringing them to the table.

"Okay, good. Would you like anything to drink? We might have orange juice if I remember correctly," Louis asks politely after handing him his plate. The anxious feeling he had before is back and recoiling in his chest, shortening his breathing a bit for no apparent reason. He doesn't look him in the eyes, and Louis hopes that he doesn't notice, or at least that he doesn't point it out if he does notice.

"Water will be fine. Thank you, Louis," Marcus says genuinely before picking up the sandwich and beginning to eat.

"No problem," Louis mindlessly returns as he starts to pour Marcus water in a glass cup from the cupboard. He pours himself some orange juice, hoping that the acidity will wake him up a bit. As if the freezing cold rain wasn't enough.

"Did you have a good rest?" Louis asks politely as he gives him his glass of water, trying to ignore the insistent beating of his heart. He can feel it in his fingertips against the cold drinks in his slightly shaky hands, so he puts them down quickly and takes a seat across from Marcus.

"You know it," Marcus replies with a smile, taking a drink of his water before eating again. There's a considerable pause before he speaks again. "How early did you get up? Your hair is damp so you must have had a shower already."

Louis freezes, suddenly aware of how his hair is still damp not from the shower he had in the middle of the night, but because of the cold rain he was caught in. He takes a sip of his orange juice before responding, the acidity of the drink helping ground him from his panicked and constricting thoughts.

"Oh, you know... I got up and took a pretty short shower before heading in here to make breakfast. I haven't been awake for long," Louis easily lies as he picks his breakfast sandwich up and takes a large bite, hoping that the longer he chews, the less he'll have to talk.

Sleeping with Marcus was one thing, it didn't require talking or really much on Louis' part. But having breakfast was like torture, having to make small talk since they don't know each other enough to talk about anything of interest, so they dance around the subject of if they'll do this again. Louis doesn't want to, but by the way Marcus is sticking around and smiling at him, he can guess that he wouldn't mind sleeping with Louis again.

The thing with Harry is that, with him, there was never really small talk, something Louis openly hates. Louis is a passionate and energetic person most of the time, enjoying conversations to go from one topic to the next and not really needing a connection. Even though Harry was considerably slower in the way he talked, he was always able to match Louis' sporadic conversations and contribute in his own quirky ways to make it interesting.

Even on their first date, they had somehow managed to avoid small talk for the most part, telling each other about their interests and their families through stories rather than responding to lame inquiries.

Ever since Louis and Harry met, they clicked, and the small talk he's having to engage in now is just a painful reminder of how Louis doesn't click with everyone the way he does with Harry. He's starting to question if he clicks with anyone like he does with Harry.

"That's good," Marcus responds, cutting off Louis' train of thought probably for the better. His chest is coiling tight again, and the only way Louis finds himself combating it is by swallowing down more acidic orange juice. "I was worried you got up way earlier than me. I'm not much of an early bird."

"Me either," Louis responds easily before eating again, hoping Marcus will take the hint and just enjoy eating in silence. That's another thing about Harry: Louis could just comfortably sit in silence with him and not feel pressured to talk. It was a nice feeling, not feeling required to have to entertain someone and just merely exist with them. Louis misses it.

He thinks over his response to Marcus on not being an early bird as he eats. He's not really sure if that's true or not since his sleeping schedule is so strange. Sure, he's up at the earliest hours of the day, but he also sleeps through most of the actual morning with light. Maybe it'd just be easier to call himself a night owl. He doesn't know why he cares, probably just because he's trying to ignore the raveling in his chest or the awkward silence between him and Marcus. Most likely both.

Fortunately, Marcus does get Louis' message and falls silent as they both continue eating their breakfast, the only bad thing is that the silence between them settles to be an awkward one since they are essentially strangers. Louis gets lost in his thoughts until Marcus finishes his breakfast later, Louis still having a bit more to eat. He's hoping to not throw it up, but that depends on how his day goes really. He still foolishly hopes to keep it down.

"I should get going; I have work in a couple of hours and I need to get home to get ready," Marcus says, finally filling the air between the men. Louis smiles half heartedly at him.

"Yeah, that sounds for the best." He's so glad that he doesn't have to think of a reason to kick Marcus out of the apartment before noon. He tries not to let his relief show as he collects their dishes and brings them to the sink in the kitchen.

Marcus follows him into there, seeming to wait for more from him. Louis doesn't know what he wants, doesn't know what he's waiting for, so he tries to fill the air once again. "Do you have everything that you brought? Did you leave anything in the room by chance?" he asks as a polite way to shoo him away.

"Hmm, nope. I think I have everything that I brought," Marcus replies. A few moments later, Louis feels warm arms wrap around his stomach from behind as Marcus steps up behind him. Louis' heartbeat feels like a jackhammer as he stands stuck in place, not sure what to do with this intimate position all of the sudden.

Hugging from behind was a thing that him and Harry did all of the time as a quiet sort of gratitude, especially on the harder days. When Harry would come home late from work to find Louis trying to make dinner for the both of them for a change, he'd just walk up and hug him from behind and press a kiss to his ear as a wordless sort of thank you. Louis did the same thing, hooking his head over Harry's shoulder when he'd find him up making them breakfast early in the morning before heading off to another shift.

It wasn't even a thing Louis had really thought about before, but now that he has a stranger holding him from behind, it becomes so clear to him how hugging from behind was a thing between him and Harry. The difference between then and now only highlights the aching in his stomach even more, and he feels like he can't breathe. Maybe his hopes of keeping his food down were too premature.

"When can I see you again?" Marcus quietly asks Louis in his ear, causing a shiver to run up his spine but not in a good way.

Louis steps away from the sink suddenly, breaking out of Marcus' hold and staring him in the eye. He never thought that he'd had to have this conversation with a stranger, but this break has brought a lot of new things for him, he supposes.

"Okay, Marcus, I have to tell you something," his voice shakily escapes his mouth, air not filling his lungs easily. He ignores that and Marcus' confused face as he goes on. "I... I have someone else. I mean, I'm not with him right now- I'm not cheating on him with you. We're just... taking a break is all. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I only ever saw this as a one time thing; I'm sorry if that wasn't clear from the beginning."

Marcus had naturally taken a step back when Louis admitted he was with someone else, showing a good quality. Louis's glad he got with a genuinely good guy instead of some handsome prick at least.

"Is he the one that gave you that black eye the other night?" Marcus asks, genuine concern in his voice. The question completely shocks Louis, causing his mouth to hang open for a bit. Louis has never even imagined once of Harry bringing a harmful hand near him, let alone socking him in the eye. Harry could never even hurt a fly, so the idea of him being able to hit Louis is mind boggling to him.

"Oh- no no no no no no no, not at all. The guy who gave me a black eye was just some random prick like how I told you at the convenience store the other night. My boyfriend? He would never even hurt a fly," Louis reassures Marcus, trying to already forget the fact that he called Harry his boyfriend. Calling him by his name now in front of a stranger would just be too painful, so he opted for that. He takes a deep breath, trying to open up his lungs that feel constricted.

"Okay; sorry for assuming that, you can just never be too sure these days," Marcus replies, trying to ease the sudden anxiety Louis has now. "Anyway, I understand. I'll be on my way now. Thanks for last night and for breakfast this morning. It was great."

It feels kind of awkward, but somehow not as much as it did earlier when they were eating. Louis's glad that he's finally leaving even though Marcus does seem like a charming personality to get to know; maybe they could have been good friends if they didn't sleep together. Louis doesn't entertain that idea much, though.

"Yeah, thanks for coming over on such short notice," Louis returns, his reply feeling out of place and weird coming out of his mouth. He just tells himself that Marcus will be gone soon and that he won't have to think about this ever again. "See you."

"See you," Marcus echoes before leaving, both of them being fairly sure that there won't be a next time where they will see each other again. The farewell is more of a formality than anything. When he leaves, though, Louis feels like he can finally breathe a bit better, a large sigh coming out of his mouth.

He hardly got any sleep, he was drenched in cold water from the moment he woke up, and he had to maintain awkward small talk with the man he just slept with after making them both breakfast. To put it short, Louis is exhausted, his stomach churning, his chest sore, and his bones feeling heavy. His eyelids start to feel heavy as well after he loads the last dish into the dishwasher, his body desperate for some sleep. Checking the clock to see 9:39 a.m., Louis decides that he has enough time for a good nap before Stan gets home.

He pads off to the living room sleepily, plopping down onto the couch as he turns the TV on. He doesn't really want to watch a show, just to have some background noise to fall asleep to, so he switches the channels until it gets on a nature based one that's showing a documentary. Finally allowing his eyes to shut, Louis lulls off to sleep to the calming voice of the commentator, his aching subsiding as he falls unconscious.

He sleeps for longer than he anticipated, Stan returning home around noon but letting Louis stay asleep on the couch since he doesn't have work and knows how little sleep he usually gets. He doesn't wake up until Stan finally nudges him awake around 4 p.m. so that he could move to his own bed. Stan wants to watch his own show, and he thought the bed would be better for Louis' bones anyway.

Louis sleepily complies, shuffling down the hallway with bleary eyes to go sleep in his bed. Even in his half asleep state, his mind wanders to how Harry used to carry him to their bed when he found Louis asleep on the couch on lazy Sunday afternoons.

The first couple of times it happened, Louis had genuinely drifted off of sleep watching the latest tennis match. But once he realized Harry was transporting him from the couch to the bed, he faked falling asleep just to get the full experience.

He remembers how the gentle and careful way Harry picked him up almost made him smile, but he had to keep a straight face because he didn't want to give away his rouse. He had very slightly opened his eyes, in a way where it was practically undetected, to see what Harry looked like from the angle of being carried bridal style, and Louis can't remember a time where Harry had looked at him with more unaltered love and warmth than then. It had made his face heat up even in his supposed sleep, but if Harry saw anything, he didn't mention it. Louis continued to pretend to fall asleep every Sunday just to get to see Harry's face and have him hold him again.

It stopped once they got older and started working more, Harry opting to cuddle up with Louis on the couch and nap with him rather than transporting him. Louis can't remember the last time they even did that, though.

He wishes Harry was here now to carry him to the bed instead of having Stan nudge him awake. He wishes that he could just be on the receiving end of Harry's loving look right now instead of blearily stumbling down the hallway on his own. Comparing now to how things used to be was going to be the death of him, yet Louis still found himself doing it in his half asleep state. He just wishes that he could be asleep again so he wouldn't have to think of Harry.

So, he practically throws himself onto the bed when he finally stumbles over all of his clothes and trash on his floor. Louis buries himself in his pillow the second he's in the bed, trying to drown the world out, his own thoughts out, and just burrow himself back into sleep. That's what sounds best right now.

But as he burrowed his head into the pillow, Louis became aware of one glaring fact: the pillow smelled like Marcus. It must have been the one Louis gave him to cuddle while he walked around all night, now being fully covered in Marcus' smell instead of his own or even the smell of Stan's laundry detergent. The smell made him queasy no matter how nice or charming Marcus was, the memories of last night being enough to make him repulsed by the scent now.

Now thinking of last night, Louis thinks over how he hasn't washed his sheets from then yet. He suddenly feels disgusting, thinking of all they did in the bed and how the traces were still there even if he couldn't see them. The smell becomes too overwhelming paired with his memories and the gross feeling of being in his bed, and Louis shoots out of the bed, wide awake now.

Though unconsciousness would be nice, he can't stand to rest in this unwashed bed that represents so much. It represents his betrayal of Harry, his complete desperation to forget him, his pathetic attempt to feel better, his betrayal of himself really. This bed which had meant nothing to him before suddenly represents so much and it only makes the shards in his gut dig deeper as he stares over it with burning eyes.

He needs to wash it; he needs to wash it now. He needs every trace of last night to be completely washed away from the earth so he never has to think of it again and what all it unintentionally represented.

With no further thought and somehow keeping his food down, Louis rips all of the sheets off of the bed, collects all of the pillowcases off of the pillows, and grabs the comforter before heading over to Stan's washing and drying machines.

"What are you doing?" Stan questions as he sees Louis march almost robotically across the living room to the washer.

"I-it's been a while since I've been here, so I thought it'd be best if I washed my sheets," Louis replies, not putting too much thought into his response other than not letting Stan know that he had someone over last night. He's too focused on the way his hands burn just holding the sheets right now to focus on Stan.

"Okay then. I could have done that for you, you know?" he asks half-heartedly, more focused on the game now than Louis since he's reassured.

"Mmhmm," he hums in response, approaching the washer. He just needs to get all of the memories he didn't want washed out with these sheets. That will help him, and he reassures himself that over and over again as he feels on the verge of puking.

So he shoves all of the sheets and pillowcases into the washer, adding the necessary soaps and detergents before starting it up. Louis tries to focus on other things while the sheets are washing, but he finds himself just nervously bouncing his knee up and down as he sits in the living room, pretending to watch the game. He can't focus on anything else until he just knows that the sheets are washed and the memories are done away with, guilt working its way across his skin until he feels itchy from it.

He waits the same way for the dryer, knee bouncing and heart beating distractingly in his ears. His chest feels tight as the repeated sound of the sheets rolling in the dryer digs into his skull and averts his attention from anything else. Louis can't remember a time when he was this nervous about something as minimal as washing sheets. Maybe because it's not a normal thing.

He brushes that thought away, though, when the dryer finally dings that it's done. Louis shoots out of his spot on the couch and heads directly to retrieve the load.

"You good?" Stan asks, startled by Louis' sudden movement and determined demeanor.

"Yeah, yeah. Just- just ready to go back to sleep," Louis admits, the most truthful he's been to Stan today. For every moment that he's awake, his stomach just twists painfully a new reason to be unconscious.

Approaching the dryer, Louis sighs to himself, pausing from his action of opening the machine to retrieve the sheets. He hadn't noticed how much he was depending his stability on the smallest of things until Stan's reaction made him realize how unhinged something as small as washing sheets was making him. Maybe he needed to start treating this break between him and Harry like an actual break instead of a task filled with a set amount of objectives.

The thought leaves him as soon as it comes though, his heart picking up its pace again and his chest constricting as he pulls the sheets out of the dryer. They are warm and make him want to fall into them endlessly just to enjoy their warm embrace.

They remind him of how Harry would run their blankets through the dryer just to warm them up on rainy days. He knew how cold Louis could get even if he didn't go outside, and he always found small ways to make him more comfortable. Louis finds himself crying silently as he holds the warm sheets to his chest next to the dryer.

Soon, though, the sheets start to turn cold and Louis comes back from the memories to the painful present yet again. He just wishes Harry was here now no matter how much he knows that he doesn't really love him anymore. Louis doesn't really care if Harry will ever actually love him again, though, he just wants to be in his arms right now.

But familiarity is not love, it's comfort. Louis reminds himself of that as he finally forces himself to move forward and trudge back through the living room and down the hallway to his messy room. The whole reason why he made him and Harry take this break was to really think and see if they actually loved one another, not to rely on routine and familiarity for comfort and define that as love. Because that's all him and Harry had become, a routine, and that's what eventually killed Louis from the inside out.

So Louis forces himself to shove away his warm memories of Harry and forces his wishes for Harry to be here back into the dark crevices of his mind because it wasn't helping him right now. What he needed right now was to erase every piece of evidence that last night ever happened because if Louis is sure of anything, it's that last night was a horrible mistake that he needed out of his mind.

He grabs the fitted sheet and tries to force it over the corners of the bed as memories of him and Harry making the bed together mixes with memories from last night, making him feel sick as he pulls harder and harder for the sheet to fit. Just as he gets one corner covered, the other corner comes undone, causing him to let out an exasperated sigh. This is why making the bed was always easier with Harry; they always could even out the work to get it done.

Gritting his teeth, Louis pushes his previous thought away and stretches across the bed to keep one corner in place as he covers the other. After a few more tries filled with muttered cuss words, Louis finally gets the fitted sheet on. He already feels better, feeling more independent from Harry and the memories of last night feeling further and further.

He drapes the bed with the sheet and then the comforter to cover it completely. He feels his heartbeat steady and his jaw loosen as he puts the pillowcases back on the pillows, setting them up nicely to really top it off. He takes a step back from his handiwork to appreciate the made-up bed.

Inspecting the sheets and the pillowcases, Louis sees nothing amiss, nothing reminiscent of what happened the night before. He feels his chest finally loosen and the shards in his gut stop digging so deeply when he finally realizes this, his eyes growing heavy once again like he flipped a switch. Now that he knows he can sleep without the traces of last night dirtying him and contaminating his mind, he allows himself to fall into bed again to finally rest.

He hasn't slept an actual full-night's sleep since he decided that a break for him and Harry would be best, and he can feel the collateral damage of staying up till sunrise every night start to pull him readily to sleep. Right before he drifts off to sleep, though, Louis notices something.

The bed still feels dirty.

It feels as if the traces are still there like he never even washed the sheets, and the memories of last night graphically play in his mind on a loop despite his attempts to think of something, anything else. He twists and turns, hoping that some part of the sheets are untouched by the feeling of last night, but he can't find a single place where he feels right. It's like his mind is ripping itself apart with every breath as he tries to breathe away the memories of last night, and he feels his chest seizing as he is overcome with what he understands to be a panic attack.

Harry used to have these, and Louis in turn knows a lot of research to help prevent them, but he's never actually been through one before. He feels short of breath no matter how much space he has around him and his chest feels like it's compressing like how coal is compressed to become a diamond, but only in reverse, his lungs feeling like they're becoming worse with each second. His heartbeat is in his head. He tries to bring his hands up to his head to calm its raging, but that just adds to the crushing feelings around him.

He stands up suddenly, the stabbing in his stomach finally causing him to rush to the toilet to throw up what he had left in it. He feels himself shake heavily as he dry heaves into the bowl for a few minutes after he's thrown all he can up.

Slowly, he gains his breathing back and the pressure on his chest eases up the slightest bit. His head stops pounding and his attention is brought to the gross taste in his mouth rather than the tightness in his chest. He goes to the sink and hurriedly washes his mouth out, wanting to never taste of bile to be in his mouth again. He feels like it won't be the last time, though.

After a few minutes of just breathing and shaking alone in the bathroom, Louis finally feels restored enough to his normal state to stand up straight. He wipes at his eyes and walks back into the room after flushing the toilet, trying to act as if nothing happened by ignoring the stumble in his step from his head spinning and stomach being so empty.

The bed sticks out like a sore thumb in his messy room, the pristine white sheets looking too good to be paired with the trash on the ground. The sheets don't look white in his eyes, though, being dirtied by the memories of what he did with Marcus overtaking his brain. The traces of that night seem highlighted on the bed now as he stares at it, making him feel sick although he just got done throwing up. He needs those sheets gone, and he needs them gone now.

So, Louis does what he only knows to do, and he rips them off of the bed to push them out of his sight. Much like he does with his problems, much like he did to Harry. He blocks out his guilt by pulling the cases off of the pillows and reveling in the way the fitted sheet curls away from the mattress as he undoes all of the work he did earlier. Once he has all of the sheets removed, he crumples them up into a huge ball and throws them as hard as he can to the corner of the room. The crumpled ball of sheets hits the wall and slumps to the ground in the corner, causing a loose piece of paper to fly into Louis' vision.

It's the receipt from Marcus, the one that brought all of this pain and misery from a stupid fucking mistake, and Louis' eyes burn as he stares at it. Without thinking, he grabs the paper and rips it once, twice, three times, and over and over again until he can't anymore because he can't see the pieces of paper due to the tears that have built up in his eyes.

This is all his fault. He's the one who let him and Harry drift away when he noticed it before anyone else, he's the one that ran away and suggested a break instead of fixing their relationship, he's the one who went out to drink and got punched in the eye and got a random man's number and kept it instead of throwing it away, he's the one who called the stranger over to sleep with him in order to forget about Harry instead of swallowing his pride and asking for help from a friend.

He's the one who did this, he's the one who dirtied the sheets, he's the reason for a pulsing ache in his chest and his stomach and his still-black eye, and it only makes him want to rip up the ripped-up receipt more.

The paper has already fallen to the floor, though, and now he's just left with a bare bed and a head full of thoughts of why everything is his fault. He wants to solve this, needs to solve it, but he doesn't think he can do much at this point. He feels so fucking useless, just sitting there and crying over the problems he made, and he allows himself to wonder why Harry would ever want him. He can't let himself think like that, though, because it'll only lead to him smoking cigarettes until the sun comes up.

He needs to do this one step at a time, and he tells himself that he can do this in order to keep the tears from spilling over and to stop himself from spiraling into another anxiety attack. He tells himself that he can do this again as he gets up from the bed and collects all of the tiny shreds of the receipt to throw away in the trash can. Louis feels his mind become surprisingly empty as he does so. It's nice to lose himself.

For now, he decides his main objective is to get new sheets for Stan's bed tonight. The last sheets are ruined, and Louis knows that they'll never be the same again no matter how much he washes them. He knows his memory will never let those sheets seem clean ever again.

So, without much more thinking, he slides some sneakers on and heads out, merely telling Stan that he's heading to the store with no explanation. He isn't questioned, luckily, and he lets his feet carry him to the elevator and out of the apartment complex to the bus stop.

Louis doesn't want to go to the same convenience store as the one that Marcus works at, the risk of seeing him being too great. He tells himself that he can use the ride to think of what else he needs to buy in order to help restore Stan's room to the way it was when he first arrived. That will help him the best, he tells himself. It's still raining, although it's only a light sprinkle by this hour. It makes Louis think of the morning again. He clutches himself around the stomach tighter as he shrinks into the bus seat after he pays for the fare and feels his shards twist achingly.

He arrives at the store soon enough, somehow avoiding thoughts of Harry for most of the time. He traces the seams of the bus seat and thinks over his and Harry's past dates that required them to ride the bus around town, but only for a few minutes. Other than that, he just looks out the window and tries to think of what the other people on sidewalk are thinking, walking under the protection of their umbrellas. All of his estimated thoughts of the others turn out to be sad, though.

He walks out of the bus quickly, avoiding the rain and heading into the store with a mission set in his mind. He just needs to get some new sheets for Stan's bed so he can finally sleep. He'll be fine then, and he reassures himself that as he quickly walks down the the tiled aisles in search of the bedding section.

He keeps his head down in an attempt to avoid eye contact with anyone, that occurrence feeling too draining now as he focuses all of his energy in finding new bed sheets. That's all he can muster for now, and he can't afford to run into anyone he knows here, so he quickens his pace and hitches his head lower.

Louis briefly thinks back to the night he first met Marcus in the convenience store, his head feeling practically split open due to his new addition of a black eye to his face along with the way the fluorescent store lights seemed to dig in even more. The lights now make him feel the same way, as if he's strapped down to a stretcher for some reason and being prodded at relentlessly until he finally breaks. No matter how much he tries to focus on his task, Louis can feel himself tearing apart in the middle of the store as he rushes around trying to find the goddamn bedding section. He wishes that the sunrise would be the only witness to his ripping apart instead of the shitty store lights. But then again, the sunrise represents Harry. Maybe he just wants to be his only witness for once.

He finally finds the bedding aisle, turning into it with white knuckles due to holding onto his own arms so tightly. He brings his head up from its previously downward position to look through the options for the sheets. He surveys all of the options, looking for a simple white spread to look like what Stan previously had. That's all he needs and then he can be out of this store and away from being caught under the dumb fucking store lights that make him feel like his soul is seeping through his pores.

In his search, his eyes trace over a certain patterned sheet which causes his heart to clench achingly. It's the same pattern of sheets that him and Harry agreed to get when they first moved in together, hardly being able to agree on anything until then. Although they seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces, Louis and Harry's personal preferences and aesthetics clashed obnoxiously, which they hadn't found out until they went shopping for their apartment decor that day.

After bickering for the majority of the day, though, him and Harry were finally able to agree on those sheets, and he remembers how they shared a silly victory kiss in celebration for agreeing on something. He can almost feel Harry's lips on his as he overlooks the sheets now, the distant day fresh in his mind. He suddenly feels cold as he becomes aware of how he's standing all alone in this aisle now and how he'll probably never walk down the bedding section with Harry ever again. His stomach gains a new shard as he forces his eyes away, finally landing on a simple white bedsheet spread.

Eager to forget his churning pain, Louis grabs the sheets quickly and sets off to leave the aisle and hopefully never come back for a long time. However, right as he's about to exit the aisle, a familiar face appears on the other side of it.

It's Liam. Louis needed him last night when he ended up calling Marcus over, and a new wave of sickness and sadness hits him as his eyes take in the image of his familiar friend. The sheets he was grasping onto so tightly in his arms fall to the ground as he rushes up to Liam, hugging him tightly now without saying a word.

"Louis- what?" Liam asks confusedly as Louis hugs him. His eyes water and he finally starts to cry as he embraces Liam, falling into his strong and comforting presence easily. When Liam feels Louis shaking from his quiet sobs, he relaxes his surprised and tense form and wraps his arms around him. He just hugs him back and rubs his hand up and down his back reassuringly as Louis lets it out in the middle of the store in the bedding aisle. In Liam's comforting warmth, Louis starts to wonder if he was wrong and if familiarity really is love in a way.

After a few more minutes of just quietly crying into poor clueless Liam's shirt, Louis realizes how pathetic he's being along with how he's most likely burdening Liam and interrupting his day. And if Louis is sick of anything, it's being a burden, so after a few moments, he collects himself and finally steps away from Liam's warm and comforting embrace to free him from his sudden and overdramatic episode.

"Sorry- I'm sorry," is all he can find the strength to say to Liam before turning around and quickly walking away, picking up the sheets he had previously dropped on his way to hug Liam. He felt humiliated for being so vulnerable with Liam out of nowhere, for being so weak in public, and being such a burden as well. He caused this problem, so he'll have to deal with it on his own, and he tells himself that as he checks out the sheets with red-rimmed eyes and a tremor in his hands.


	12. Chapter Twelve

_Mercy on me, would you please spare me tonight?_

_I'm tired of this searching, would you let me let go?_

* * *

By the time Louis returns back to the apartment after trudging out of the store with red eyes and the new bedsheets to go on the bus home, Stan has already retired to his room for the night even though it wasn't that late. Louis found that he did that sometimes, just disappeared for the night for no apparent reason. He supposes that everyone needs time to themselves.

Not thinking too much about the eerily empty apartment, Louis walks back to his room with the sheets reassuring himself that he's fine. He may have blown up a bit on Liam, but he'll send him a text to apologize again to hopefully not trouble him too much. He's fine, though, honestly. He grips the sheets so tightly as he walks to the room that his knuckles turn white.

Louis had decided on the bus ride home that he needs to become okay with being alone. That will stop him from doing stupid stuff like some of the worst decisions he's made in the past like calling Harry just to yell at him or calling Marcus over just to sleep with him to forget Harry. So he reassures the trembling in his hands and the burning feeling in his chest that standing here alone in his room is the best thing he can be doing right now even though it doesn't really feel like it. He's not sure what the best thing he could be doing right now is anymore, though.

He decides the most logical thing to do now is to put the sheets on the bed and finally fall back asleep so he doesn't have to think about the aching absence of not having someone near him anymore. So that's what he does, and he restores the bed to the state it looked like when he first came to Stan's apartment fairly quick, having had practice from his episode earlier. He only feels like throwing up a little bit this time, so he considers it a win.

Not being able to stare at his still-messy room anymore, Louis retreats to the bed and buries himself in the sheets in another attempt to drown himself out from the world. After feeling so stretched thin non-stop for over a week and a half, he finds himself not even desiring to feel good anymore; he just desires to feel nothing, really, to have a numbness to it all. That feels like it'd be best for him right now.

No matter how much Louis pushes his head into the pillows or how much he covers his body with the covers, he doesn't feel his eyelids get any heavier like before. The bed doesn't feel like it's dirty, it feels like a new and clean bed, but his soul feels like it's in a state of unrest that his body forces him to match.

The problem is that Louis hasn't really been sure how he's felt throughout this whole break because he hasn't really had someone to talk to. He used to always have Harry or Zayn or another close friend to genuinely talk to and sort through his thoughts with. But now that he has hardly no communication with anyone besides what's necessary, he just feels each emotion remain trapped inside of him without ever being fully analyzed. So instead of falling asleep to catch up on his much-needed rest, Louis's forced to feel himself brew without really understanding it.

He stays like that for a while, an hour or two just laying there with his head buried in a pillow while he feels his heart toss and turn. The aching in his stomach had subsided luckily to focus on his brewing, and he appreciated it since he figured that it was the closest he'd get to a sense of peace before sunrise.

Around 7:34 p.m., though, Louis hears a distant knock on the door. It springs many questions inside of him along with anxiety, wondering who it could possibly be. He wasn't expecting anyone, and Stan hadn't told him anything similar to that either, but maybe he had just forgotten to tell him. Judging by the silence still laying over the apartment, Louis figures that Stan didn't hear the knock and that he'll have to get it himself. It's inconvenient, but it beats just laying vacantly in a bed until he hopefully falls asleep at some point.

Standing up suddenly, Louis steadies himself on a nearby wall before trudging to the front door. His chest feels tight all of the sudden and his head is still pulsing from the sudden rush of standing up, but he quickens his pace when he hears another knock on the door since he's being so slow to answer.

He thinks about how he hasn't had lunch or dinner yet as he passes the kitchen, but he knows that he's just too afraid of throwing up again to eat so soon. He doesn't have much time to brew over that fact, though, because now he's opening up the front door in a rush and saying sorry just to find Harry standing there.

"Oh," is all Louis hears himself say, his mind blanking as he tilts his head up slightly to look at Harry for the first time in over a week and a half. It's hardly been long, but it feels like it's been months as he stares at him now.

Harry looks like he's in a similar shape as him, eye bags distinct under his eyes and his hair messy and greasy. His eyes also look sunken and really sad, and it makes Louis remember his aching gut as it twists painfully once again. He did this; this is all his fault. His eyes travel to Harry's reddened and scabbed knuckles right before the other man finally speaks.

"Louis." It's all he says, sadness clear in his voice. Both of the boys are stuck in place in a dumb silence, Harry still out in the hallway while Louis's in the apartment with his hand gripping the door handle tightly. This is reminding him somewhat of when Marcus came over just last night, and he feels so sick suddenly.

"Harry, I..." Louis starts but trails off, feeling so nauseous and in pain that he can't manage to say more. He feels his throat closing as tears instinctively rise to his eyes. He just wishes that breathing wasn't so difficult nowadays to him.

"Liam told me about how he found you in the store. I- I knew I had to come," Harry supplies, looking worriedly into Louis' eyes. At least, that's how Louis thinks he's looking at him; there's so much emotion in the air between them, and he doesn't know Harry well enough anymore to be able to interpret it accurately.

Not being able to muster the strength to say anything right now, Louis just steps aside to wordlessly invite Harry inside. He feels so tired and drained, his eyelids feeling heavy now along with his bones. He figures that he could slump against the wall right now and fall asleep but decides that it's probably not the best option for right now. Harry timidly steps inside, looking afraid that Louis might do something like scream how he doesn't ever want to see him again. It makes him sad, seeing Harry react to him like that. Even if Louis felt that way, he doesn't even have the energy to do all of that right now. He still has to fight himself from reaching out for Harry's hand for some reason, though.

"What did Liam tell you?" Louis asks knowing that it won't add much to the conversation. He mainly asked it because he just needs something to fill the air between them other than their sad and longing looks.

"He told me as much as you'd expect with how you acted in the store, I guess. Just that he was walking down an aisle and all of the sudden you ran and hugged him and cried for a few minutes before apologizing and disappearing as fast as you had appeared," Harry replies, both of them still standing in the hallway that leads to the living room. Harry sounds defeated, a tone that Louis's not used to hearing him use. It makes his chest burn more and adds another shard to his stomach.

"Louis, this- this just isn't like you," Harry says suddenly while turning to look into his eyes with an almost pleading look, interrupting the silence that had settled over them yet again. "We haven't talked in over a week and all of the sudden I get a call from Liam telling me that you came out of nowhere and cried in his arms in the middle of a store before disappearing. Do you have any idea what that's like? To receive a call like that? I'm just- I'm so worried about you Louis and I can't help it."

Harry has stepped closer now although Louis didn't really realize when that happened, too focused on his pounding head and what was coming out of the boy's mouth. His face looks so pained and it makes Louis feel sick again because this is all his fault. Harry doesn't deserve this. He feels like he needs to sit down with how weak his legs feel.

"How- how do you know what I'm like anymore?" Louis quips back, not knowing how to respond to all of this genuine concern flowing out of Harry onto him. He hates this kind of attention, he hates the feeling raging inside of him right now, and he just wants to get away from it.

"I didn't come here to fight, Louis," Harry admits with a sigh, his use of Louis' full name making him even sadder somehow. He sounds like he's at the end of his rope at this point, and if Louis's being honest, he is too. He knows that they can't be spared from a painful conversation that will have to happen at some point. But tonight, Louis thinks, tonight him and Harry deserve some mercy. So he pushes all of his aching and insecurities aside and finally gives in.

"I don't want to fight either," he admits, finally returning the eye contact Harry has been trying to initiate. He almost feels his body give out entirely at the familiarity of looking into Harry's eyes.

They remain silent for a while, just taking in one another's presence as their minds rage with all kinds of thoughts and emotions. Louis agonizes over the burning and aching and tightening feelings inside of himself as his mind tries to comprehend everything happening. He can't stop himself from thinking how it would be easier to let go of their relationship if Harry would just let him. Louis's so tired and his mind is exhausted, yet here Harry is inside of Stan's apartment without warning, bringing back so many emotions Louis can't really process at the moment.

His mind quiets, however, when Harry takes a step towards him. He brings his hand up to Louis' cheek, but he doesn't find himself flinching away like he thought he would. He just falls into it, laying his head into Harry's hand as he lets his eyes close and his insides shut up for a second.

"Your eye," is all Harry says sadly, causing Louis to remember how he probably still has faint bruises reminiscent of when he was punched a while ago.

"I'm fine," he reassures Harry, opening his eyes to look into the other boy's to help reduce his worry.

Harry just shakes his head no, not saying anything else as he gently rubs his finger over where the faint bruises are. Louis brings his hand up to cover Harry's holding his head and focuses on that small bit of intimacy, refusing to think too much about it.

"Your hand," Louis says sadly after his fingers trace over the scabs on Harry's knuckles. He looks up to the other man with a concerned look in his eye, feeling sick once again because everything really is his fucking fault.

"It's nothing; I'm fine," Harry reassures, almost being identical to Louis earlier. Louis wants to implore and question him further, but he feels himself becoming more tired by the minute, and Harry's hand gently tracing his cheekbone wasn't helping him. He's just so exhausted from constantly fighting everyone and even himself.

"I'm going to bed," Louis says while looking Harry in the eye. It's an unsaid invitation for him to follow and join him, for him to just come and rest with him, because really all Louis wants to do right now is hold Harry and go to sleep no matter what's going on between them. Harry looks back with a question in his eyes, most likely being unsure if he's even allowed to follow Louis back to his room. Louis gives him a small nod, still holding his hand over Harry's scabbed one.

"Okay," Harry says, implying that he understands what Louis means and that he's going to follow. In this moment of minimal communication, Louis wonders once again if familiarity really can be translated as love. He's too tired to think that over, though, so he wordlessly brings Harry's hand on his face to be between them as he leads them back to his room.

Although this is immensely painful to Louis, he's glad that Harry doesn't want to fight or talk about whatever is going on between them right now. Louis knows that he doesn't have the energy for that, and it feels nice to not push himself over the edge for once.

"Your room is a mess," Harry comments quietly once they finally get to Louis' room. He can't tell if he's trying to be conversational or convicting, but he's not sure if he cares at this point.

"I know," is all Louis replies before gently leading them to the bed, pulling back the rumpled covers to get inside. They're both in sweats so they don't have to change, and Harry follows him soon after into the bed.

Before he even gives himself time to overthink it, Louis instinctually pulls Harry close to him and cuddles him from behind, being his big spoon. It makes his heart pound out of his chest and makes his stomach twist confusedly, but above all, it brings him a sense of peace he hasn't had in a while.

They both sigh when Louis pulls him close, and he can feel Harry's hands grip tightly onto his arms around him. Although there was always a war waging inside of Louis ever since this all started, he feels it quiet down more than it ever has with Harry in his arms. And for the first time ever since he's been away from Harry for more than a week and a half, Louis finally falls asleep before watching the sun rise, quite possibly because he had his sunrise in his arms.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_I can take a little bit more_

_Let's shake this poet out of the beast_

* * *

Louis wakes up fairly early since his body is used to running on a low amount of sleep for the day. His eyes open around 8:38 in the morning, the sun being at a point in the sky that he hasn't seen in a while since he usually sleeps through this time of day. Right as he realizes that he has woken up in an actual bed instead of being on the floor outside, Louis squeezes tighter onto the body he's wrapped around by instinct.

Right, Harry came over last night and instead of fighting, they just slept. The boy that has gradually broken his heart bit by bit to where his chest just burns now is in his arms and breathing lightly. Louis can't tell if his heart is swelling with fondness or anxiety. Instead of jerking away or pulling him closer until he can't breathe like his mind tells him to, Louis lays stock-still as he feels Harry breathe against him. It's nice to not have to do anything like put on a face or talk about difficult things.

It reminds him of all of the times he'd wake up earlier than Harry on the rare occasion back when they were together. Sometimes he'd wake him up in an unconventional way, sometimes he'd wake him up by peppering his face with kisses and whispering sweet things to him, and sometimes he'd just cuddle closer and enjoy the moment for as long as he could. Things were simpler back then, though, back when all the boys had to worry about was what they were going to get each other for Christmas. Louis wants it back.

He's here now, though, still and awkward against Harry as he lightly snores in the way he's always been endeared by. He wants to sink into the moment and just enjoy what he has now since he doesn't know if he'll ever get this again, but he doesn't feel like he has the right to call this moment his own. Harry isn't his boy right now and he shouldn't act like he is just to feel better. He deserves every ounce of pain he feels in his burning heart and stabbing stomach, so he gently brings his hands and body away from Harry until he has silently gotten out of the bed.

He feels out of breath even though he hasn't done anything, so he opts to go use the bathroom and brush his teeth while Harry peacefully rests. Louis resolves that peace is what Harry deserves right now.

After using the bathroom and brushing his teeth until the foam washing away in the sink was tainted red, Louis found himself going to the balcony. He knows that he should be making Harry some breakfast like he did for Marcus or at least alerting Stan that the man he was taking a break from was here in his home, but he found himself stuck outside clutching onto the cold railing in the morning.

His stomach is churning along with his heart burning, but he pushes those feelings away as he reaches for a cigarette and a lighter from where he usually keeps them on the balcony. It feels odd to have not seen the sunrise for today, like he hasn't had the proper start to his day. The sunrise could have been different today for all he knows, something poetically beautiful and so magnificent that he would have forgotten all of his troubles, but he seriously doubts that as he takes his first drag of the cigarette.

Last night was the most that he's slept in a while, and he can't tell if he enjoyed it. Harry in his arms was nice but painful, a beautiful reminder of what wasn't really his. The sleep rested his brain but that only allowed for more insecurity to roll in somehow. All he wants to focus on now is how the smoke burns his throat and fills his lungs and fuzzes the sharpness to his thoughts. The boy that's supposed to be his home is just through the glass door, but he still feels so lost.

His depressing thoughts are abruptly cut off by the sound of the glass door shifting open, not really surprising him since Stan wakes him up at this time some days.

"I'm already awake, Stan, not passed out on the ground like I usually am," he says with a small smile that he usually finds himself wearing around Stan to reassure him.

When he turns around, though, he sees that it's Harry who has joined him on the balcony and not Stan. His blood feels a bit colder now, turning away with a small "oh" emitting from his mouth in surprise. He thought Harry would at least have an hour or two more of sleep in him.

"It's just me," Harry supplies to the silent morning air, sounding as if he feels like he's letting Louis down. It causes his stomach to gain another shard and twist painfully. He takes a longer drag than usual without saying anything.

"What are you doing up so early?" Louis asks, trying to seem nonchalant as he stares out at the horizon of the town with the idle cigarette in his hand. He hopes Harry can't hear the shake in his voice.

"I could ask you the same," Harry replies, his voice gentle in the morning air. He doesn't sound accusatory or anything, just factual and quiet.

"I asked first." His spare hand is wrapped around the railing so tightly that his knuckles are white again. He thinks of how Harry's knuckles are red and scabbed and wonders why as he feels his heart ache.

"I felt you leave," Harry admits quietly to the air, still behind Louis thankfully. Thankfully because Louis is afraid that he would be able to see the tears building in his eyes as he stares at the morning sky if he were any closer. Louis feels his stomach twist and his heart ache as he tries to not dent the railing with his anxious grip.

"I don't sleep that much anymore," Louis answers Harry's question from before, trying to make the conversation fair and equal for the both of them. Maybe being honest will help them this time. He tries to ignore the doubt raging in his head.

"Care to share?" Harry asks, now beside him on the railing and his head motioning towards the cigarette in his hand. Louis doesn't know if Harry didn't hear his last admittance or if he was just ignoring it, and he isn't sure which one is better at this point. It pains Louis, but the last thing he wants to do is tell Harry how to live his life, so he passes him a cigarette and lights it for him.

"Since when do you smoke?" Louis asks simply as if he hadn't woken up all those nights ago to see Harry smoking alone on the balcony. The tension in his chest is too much already, and the last thing he wants to do is add onto it by starting to accuse Harry of things that don't really matter right now.

"Since when do you?" Harry counters once again, already getting under Louis' skin as he just tries to make conversation. He tries to remain patient and not lash out at Harry because he doesn't see that solving anything. So after another drag and a few breaths, he replies.

"Ever since I saw you smoking on our balcony in the middle of the night." There's no accusation in his voice, but there is a hint of a challenge. He's too afraid to turn and look at Harry's face to gauge his reaction.

"God, is it always going to be like this?" Harry quietly asks now, sounding more like he's talking to the air than Louis. He finally turns to him to see him staring straight down at the ground below them as he takes a drag of his cigarette.

"Like what?" Louis asks just as quietly, afraid to break whatever somber mood that has settled over the both of them.

"Like we're fucking strangers walking on eggshells around each other. Is it always going to be like that?" Harry asks suddenly, his voice raised and loud now. It makes Louis take a step back as he feels his insides churn painfully.

"I-I'm-"

"You're what, Louis?" Harry cuts him off, anger now in his voice as he turns to him. Apparently Louis pushed him to his tipping point somehow, and now he's facing the consequences of it. He feels his throat closing as he finds himself unsure of what to say.

"I don't want to fight, Harry," Louis says as calmly as possible, all of the fire gone from him as he sadly looks at the other boy.

"I know you don't. If we did everything your way, though, then I wouldn't even be here right now." Harry is fuming now, and Louis can feel his hands shaking against the cold rail of the balcony. He must have found his breaking point like Louis did during their phone call a while ago, and Louis can only let Harry go on as he convinces himself that he deserves this.

"You always say that this relationship is just as much mine as it is yours, but yet you're the one calling all of the shots about whether we get to be together," Harry vents, tears now streaming down his face. Louis doesn't remember when they started, but he feels tears of his own building in his eyes too. "Am I just supposed to wait until you decide if you love me or not? Am I just supposed to be an after thought for you while you weigh out your options?"

"You kn-ow it's not like that!" Louis finally counters, his voice only cracking a bit as a tear makes its way down his left cheek.

"What is it like then? I'd love to know since, you know, I'm the other half of this relationship. You know, you'd think that being in a relationship with someone for seven years would maybe give you a say in what happens between you two, but nope. Nothing I could have said would have kept you from leaving-" Harry's voice cuts off, crying too much to be able to go on. Louis feels his heart breaking and he just wants to go hold him but knows that he can't.

"Y-you know that I wanted to take a break for the better of the both of us. I know that I can't speak for you, but I needed a break!" Louis finally yells back, tears now fully streaming down his cheeks too. "Every day it just felt like my heart was breaking more and more with how we hardly talked or laughed or even smiled anymore with each other. And we just kept drifting away further and further after being together for so many years and I just felt like I was drowning and it felt like being around you was pushing me under even more instead of saving me because I-I didn't know you anymore!"

Louis has forgotten the cigarette in his hand by now, stubbing it out in the makeshift ashtray. Harry's crying, he's crying, and he feels like he's going to explode because this is all his fault.

"Louis, I love you! Doesn’t that count for anything anymore? Why didn't you ever talk to me? Why did you only push me away?" Harry asks, tears still falling down his face as he practically pleads to him. Louis finds his feet stuck in place as he looks back at Harry sadly.

"Because you already seemed so far away! You didn't even seem to notice and that just tore me apart even more. I love you, I think I always will, but I can't pretend that I'm okay when just being around you makes me anxious," Louis admits, the fire dwindling from his voice. He's already cried so much and it's only the morning. He slept more than he has in a long time last night, but he already feels so tired.

"Of course I noticed!" Harry admits back, exasperation in his voice. "I just thought it was a part of our relationship, one that we'd recover from once we were in a more comfortable financial space. I didn't- I didn't think that it'd come to this."

He seems to be losing the fire in his voice too, the air falling silent between both of them as they just quietly wipe their eyes. Louis wants to apologize; he wants to hug Harry and say how he's sorry for every single thing he's put them through, but Harry speaks before he can get a regretful word out.

"I have something to show you." He says it while looking at his hands but turns to Louis after, confusing him. What would Harry have to show him?

"Follow me," he says simply before turning to the balcony door and going back inside. Louis follows him without questioning, knowing that they will be answered soon enough. If Harry has taught him anything, it's patience.

Louis comes back inside to find Harry on his phone, scrolling concentratedly. He doesn't know whether to draw closer or to stay put, so he just walks up to the opposite side of the bed as quietly as possible. The room has been quiet for a while, and right as Louis is about to ask a question to fill the air, Harry beats him to it.

"So, I know I haven't been answering your texts or phone calls recently. But, um, this is why. Please watch it all the way through before saying anything," Harry says with a wince on his face already, passing Louis his phone. Louis looks at him with a puzzled face, completely confused by the turn of the conversation. The last thing he was expecting was an explanation as to why Harry wasn't replying to him for the last week and a half.

Once he sees that it's a video, though, he kind of understands. Harry puts his all into whatever he's making when it comes to filmography, and Louis supposes that he did that with the video he's about to watch. Glancing up at Harry just to see his nervous expression as he bit his lip, Louis takes a deep breath before sitting down on the bed and pressing play.

The video starts out with a beautiful shot of a sunset with an empty chair in front of it on what it looks to be their balcony back at their apartment. After a few moments, Harry walks onto the screen and sits in the seat, looking tired and dressed casually as he sits pensively.

"I used to wonder what love is... used to think that finding out who you loved and what it was was the greatest journey a person could take," he says while staring at his hands clasped in his lap instead of at the camera. He looks nervous and like he's going to cry, but he goes on. "This- this break has made me wonder what love is again after a long time of not wondering. It's given me a lot of questions that I used to think I knew. You being gone has given me a lot of time to think, and I know that's what you wanted me to do the most during this time. A lot of the questions I've had, I can't answer without you. But I... I think I finally understand what love is now, at least."

The video cuts from Harry sitting in front of the sunset to an old clip of Louis while Harry's voice still overlays the video. The clip must be from when they first met and worked on a short film for their college class project, Louis figures by how young he looks and his atrocious haircut. In the clip, he's trying to climb up a tree before slipping and falling, laughter taking over his face as he rolled on the ground and the camera shook as if whoever was holding it was laughing too. A hand from the camera man's place points at the younger Louis laughing on the ground, which causes him to jump up and charge them. He grabbed the camera and switched it around to a young and rosy-cheeked Harry with deep dimples and laughter on his face as he hunches over.

"Love is a lot of things. I've learned that all throughout my life, but no one has taught me as much about it than you have, Louis," Harry's voice says with a warmth behind it as the clip plays. "Ever since I met you, you've taught me that love is a spontaneous thing. That it's a thing that you can never really plan on, but it makes your cheeks swell with a smile and makes laughter pour from your mouth no matter how appropriate of a time it is to laugh." Louis feels himself tearing up at the video, but he forces himself to stay focused and not lose it since it wasn't done.

The video cuts back to Harry sitting all alone in front of the sunset, still looking at his hands but now smiling a small bit. "The day I met you and was put in a group with you, you transformed love into a whole new thing that I had never really heard of. They talked about it in the movies, I guess, but it didn't feel as cheesy as love at first sight or anything like that. You made me feel real in a whole new way, I guess," Harry admits in the video with a sad smile.

The video cuts again to a new clip of Louis at the local carnival that would come around yearly to the town their college was in. He's a bit older now, the old haircut gone for a slightly better one, though still bad. This clip is made up of him skipping around the carnival grounds, screaming on the neon-lit rides, winning a crappy stuffed animal for Harry, and even him sharing cotton candy with Harry as well. His eyes are crinkled by his smile, and Harry's dimples are deep as ever when Louis grabs the camera every now and then to show Harry with the stuffed animal Louis won for him or him eating cotton candy. They both look so happy.

"You taught me other things about love, though. You taught me how love could be the most fun thing ever," Harry's voice goes on as the clip of them at the carnival plays. "Instead of love being purely romantic and poetic like I had always imagined, you taught me that it was an experience to be enjoyed to the fullest. You taught me that it could be as fun and enjoyable as you made it."

Once the carnival clip ends, it cuts back over to Harry on the balcony. The sky is only slightly a bit darker now as he smiles to himself. "I kind of thought the charm of whatever was going on between us would wear out or become awkward once we started going on dates, but you always proved me wrong somehow. Even though I didn't plan on it, you showed me how love could continuously remain new no matter how long it had existed between us." He looks up to the camera and smiles with watery eyes. Louis feels himself looking down with watery eyes too.

Before he could ponder what he was feeling, the video cut to a young Louis who looks just out of college. He's in what's an empty version of their apartment now, and he slides around the empty space using his socks with laughter overtaking his features again. He slips to the floor after sliding for too long, but the person holding the camera slips trying to follow him too so it falls to the floor. After facing the ceiling for a few seconds, a young Louis picks up the camera laughing and turns it to a young Harry laughing on the floor in his socks too. The camera gets pushed into his blushing face and is pushed away as Harry and Louis play fight on the floor of their new apartment.

"You taught me how love never got old," Harry's voice said as the clip played. "You taught me how it always shifted and changed its form for the new season, how it became something entirely new with every new journey with you. I used to think that love would be a routine, but you showed me that it didn't have to be if you had someone to change with."

The video cuts back to Harry after the clip, Louis starting to be able to pick up the pattern. "After dating for two years in college, I started to wonder if being in the real world would ruin our relationship. But once we bought an apartment together and slid around it excitedly when we finally got ownership of it, you showed me how the real world was only an expansion to what we could do in our relationship."

Louis sniffles, feeling the overwhelming urge to cry as he watches clips of his and Harry's past play with Harry's commentary, but he holds his tears back. His hands shake slightly as the video goes on.

The video cuts to a new clip in the perspective of someone laying in bed. A young Louis appears on the screen again, a few years older from the fresh-out-of-college Louis in the last clip. He was smiling tiredly as he brought up a bowl of something steaming and made a silly face at the camera. It cut from that to him doing the laundry tiredly while watching the game on TV before spotting the camera again, swatting at it while laughing. The clip once again cut to a tired Louis staring at billing papers on the kitchen table, exhausted, until he turned his head towards the camera and smiled warmly as the person behind the camera handed him a steaming cup of coffee. The exhausted Louis grabbed the camera and turned it to where it captured him kissing Harry sweetly, both of them smiling into it. He left a final kiss on Harry's cheek before returning to his drink on the table.

"One of the most important lessons you taught me is that love takes work no matter how much you love someone," Harry's voice says with a genuine tone to it. "Falling in love with someone is easy, but continuing to love someone through the hard times and the fights takes work. You taught me that love isn't always 50/50 and that's okay. Some days it's 40/60 and even 20/80 on the really hard days, but it's love nonetheless. You taught me that even though everything can't be perfect all of the time, there can still be love."

The video goes back to Harry sitting alone on the balcony once the clips are over, the sunset starting to really dim behind him. His face was still visible, but not by a lot. "With all of those sick days we took care of each other, the tiring afternoons we'd do the laundry, and even the late and exhausting nights we'd pay our bills and do our taxes, you showed me how work was required to maintain love. With every thoughtful action and little sacrifice, you taught me how love took some work from both sides sometimes and how that was okay."

Louis feels his heart tighten at his wording, reminding him now of how their love needs work from both sides. He wonders for a moment if he even knew all of the things he was teaching Harry through his actions before the video goes on again.

The video goes now to an older Louis brushing his teeth in the morning. He's dancing despite the tiredness in his eyes and urges for Harry behind the camera to do the same, the camera shaking slightly as a result of Harry giving in and dancing with him. The clip then cuts to Harry and Louis in the back of a taxi, their feet tapping on each other in a playful manner until the camera pans up to a giggly and drunk Louis. He looks to be reenacting something dramatically until the clip cuts once again to Harry and Louis in their bed early in the morning. Louis is asleep in the video, but he's clutching onto Harry tightly in his sleep, and Harry showcases this in the video by trying to escape his hold just to be pulled back to Louis' chest laughing.

"You also taught me that love isn't just one big action," Harry's voice says over the clips, Louis being able to hear the smile in his voice. "You taught me how love can be found in the small things if you just look long enough. You showed me how love didn't have to be one big grand gesture or a huge sacrifice, but it could just be the little kindnesses shared throughout the day."

The video goes back to Harry sitting alone on the balcony, looking off somewhere that Louis can't really tell. "In the little morning dance parties we'd have, playing footsie and being weirdos when we're drunk together, and even just holding me close in your sleep, you opened my eyes to how love could be in every small thing. You made me realize how love was a continuous action that could be found in seemingly minuscule things if I just took the time to appreciate them."

Once again, the video cuts from Harry on the balcony to a Louis from not too long ago sitting on their living room floor. He was playing some random game him and Harry had made up, and it kept cutting from different games they played on the same night, both of them laughing at different parts. It was the night they tried to see if sunsets or sunrises were better, Louis remembers. The video then cuts to them messing around and building their pillow fort on the balcony, and the clip ends with them sleepily smiling at the camera within their duly built pillow fort.

"Finally, you've taught me that love is finding a place to call home," Harry's voice chokes out as the clip plays, causing Louis to choke up as well while watching it. "With every challenging day and every little thing thrown at us, you showed me how having a place to call home was the most important thing to a person. Having each other to call home and getting it tattooed onto each other, it all taught me how no matter how lost I am, you'll always be my home, Louis. You're the most important thing to me."

Louis is freely crying with tears streaming down his face as the video cuts to Harry once again, the sunset almost completely gone now. He can't see his face anymore, but he figures that he's wearing a watery smile as he goes on.

"We've been each other's homes for about seven years now, and being apart from you for over a week has only shown me without a doubt that you're my home, and you always will be, Lou." His voice sounds choked up again, and Louis tries to stop his sniffling to listen. "Ever since that night we stayed up to see the sunset and the sunrise, you've always been my sunset. You've always been the perfect end to my day no matter how hard it's been, and I want you to be that for me forever. If this break has taught me anything, it's that."

"So I guess you've taught me something else about love through this break, too," Harry continues even though it's pretty much dark in the background now. "You've taught me how there are imprints to love. You can't just look away from it and ignore it like it's never happened because that's just not possible. That love is there, and with a love as big as you've taught to me throughout the years, Lou, it'll last forever. I hope I've taught you the same things about love." Harry gets up then in the video, and his dark figure walks up to the camera and then the video is over.

The room is silent as Louis feels tears flow down his face once again, everything taking a moment to sink in.

"Ha-rry," his voice cracks as he finally stands up and crashes into his arms like he did with Liam the other night but more earnestly. He starts fully crying once he's in his arms, and he feels Harry do the same as he grapples onto him as well.

"I love you," is all Louis said as they cried and held each other, and Harry repeated it back to him. They continued to cry, but Louis couldn't stop the resounding "I love you I love you I love I love you" beating from his heart and spreading throughout his body till he was warm with his love for Harry.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first officially finished fic and I’m so happy to be publishing it! Here’s a warning first off: this fic is very depressing and doesn’t have much cute Larry content, although there is some. With that said, I’m so happy if you have chosen to read my fic! I wrote this back in March and finished it around June, but I’m just now getting to publishing it on here because I procrastinate too much. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!


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